Little Brother
by JenBurch
Summary: Dean has to take care of his little brother yet again, only this time things are a little more unusual than the Winchester's are used to. Can he figure it out before it's too late, or will Sam be lost forever? No spoilers, AU
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, I know… the boys, the car, the whole thing is Kripke's. But I have the dvds and I reserve the right to play with my boys like puppets and put them through all sorts of dilemma's that make me feel better about the fact that I have nothing to do with the show itself! I like to call myself the PUPPETMASTER! Mwahahahahaha! Point? Not mine. Sad.

Dedication: To TraSan, whose writing has once again inspired me to put fingers to the keyboard!

A/N - To my BB&BP readers, I promise I haven't forgotten about Final Rest, I just had this clattering through my head and I couldn't get it out no matter what I did so I had to write about it! Meanwhile, pregnancy stuff seems to be settling down a little, so hopefully I'll be writing more and I'll be able to get the rest of that story out in the next couple of weeks. Meanwhile, I hope you'll read this one and I hope you like it.

**Chapter One**

Sam Winchester sat at the bar of yet another greasy pub, nursing yet another bad pint of beer, while he waited for his brother to do whatever it was he was going to do on this humid evening. Something about the night, the vibe, the bar itself, something was all-too familiar, and he wished he could put his finger on what it was. There was something wrong, something out of place… that could mean only one thing, Sam thought as he recognised the familiar trepidation in his chest.

It was that feeling that something was coming, something bad was about to happen that would change everything. And that feeling was what was so familiar to him – it wasn't the bar that was bothering him, it was the feeling that was creeping up his spine, warning him that something was terribly wrong. He remembered the last time he had that feeling, and he really didn't care to repeat that experience. The warning feeling had come too late to protect him then, and it had nearly gotten himself and his brother killer… no way was he going to risk a repeat performance.

He turned his eyes to the room around him and caught sight of Dean nearby, doing his usual hustle over at the pool table. Sam couldn't say he approved of Dean's choice in opponents at the best of times, but this time he was especially worried. There was a heavy-set man in a biker's jacket with a beard and tattoos all up his arms. Sam recognised one of the tatts, even if Dean didn't – and if Dean was playing pool against this guy then there was a good chance he didn't know what he was getting himself in for… either that, or Dean just thought he could handle it on his own.

No one could handle a guy like this. This was the type of guy who little old ladies threw their handbags at, kids hid their lollipops from, and big burly boxers crossed the streets to avoid. His most prominent tattoo was one of an angry looking Boar frothing at the mouth, and that told Sam everything he needed to know.

He was a member of the Road Boars, one of the most feared biker gangs he'd ever heard of when he was in California. He had to get Dean's attention somehow, but how could he do that without bothering the man who right now was setting up a shot that Sam could tell he wasn't going to land and Dean was preparing himself to land one of his awe-inspiring Winchester shots. He was going to sink the last three balls in one hit, before he white ball ricocheted to put the black ball in his chosen pocket.

Sam had to move – fast!

"Ah, Dean?" Sam nudged his brother gently to get his attention. "We gotta go."

Dean chuckled, clearly trying to save face in front of the biker's who were looking at each other in confusion and… preparation? Sam knew that if he wasn't careful, the fight would start right here, in the bar and there would be no way he could stop it from happening. He wouldn't be able to control who was going to get hurt, and that meant any number of innocent people could be pummelled in the process.

"What are you talking about?" Dean muttered at his brother. "I'm about to score a great shot here and the bounty's already up to three hundred!"

Sam positioned himself between his brother and the biker who was currently being distracted by his peroxide blonde girlfriend who was busily trying to lick the guys tonsils. Sam tried to convey the seriousness of the situation through a simple look to his brother. His eyes were pleading with him to understand, but he wasn't sure Dean would.

"You don't know what you're getting into, Dean," Sam warned him, keeping his voice low, determined not to let on to anyone else that he recognised who these men were. The truth of the matter was, he was worried… it had been a long time since a mere mortal had gotten the drop on a Winchester, but he wasn't looking forward to that ever happening again, and if anyone could do it, it would be these guys. They were big, strong and mean, and Sam wasn't sure what to expect from them.

"Of course I do!" Dean told him. "I'm getting us into a warm motel for the night instead of two nights in a row sleeping in the Impala! And I'm getting us dinner and breakfast for the next few nights! Or do you want to starve to death?"

"Dean, these guys aren't exactly your usual breed of prey," Sam tried again. He grabbed his brother by the arm and pulled him away from the table, hoping that they could talk more clearly or… he secretly wondered if there was some kind of House Rule that meant you forfeit the game if you're further than three feet away. "These guys have all done time. They're particularly nasty biker's with a taste for maiming and murdering whoever gets in the way. They are not good losers and…"

"And what? Do they breathe fire from their assholes or something, coz you're not telling me anything that I can't handle here, Sammy," Dean interrupted. "Besides, how happy do you think they're going to be if I throw the game now? They'll be just as pissed, and we'll be just as broke."

Sam hesitated and glanced back at the leader of the pack, the guy Dean had challenged to the game. He wanted to trust that his brother knew what he was getting himself in for, but he just wasn't sure. Dean was cocky, but he was never known as particularly stupid, and Sam couldn't shake the thought that getting involved with these men was stupid!

And he couldn't shake that feeling that there was something really bad coming.

"Dean, I don't know. I just have a feeling, here, okay?" Sam told him. "I cant shake the thought that there's something wrong…"

"Hey, Princess!" The Boar called out to Dean, grinning through gapped teeth. "You coming or what? It's your shot, honey!"

Dean grimaced and anger flashed through his eyes –barely contained anger, Sam noticed, and he had to wonder who he should have been more worried for at that point. Maybe Dean wasn't that stupid, after all? Maybe The Boar was the one who was going to regret his choice of opponent.

But then, how could you explain that nagging feeling that this night was going to end really, really badly?

Dean grinned when he glanced at the table. Sam understood the grin, but he didn't react, knowing that Dean wasn't going to make a big deal out of the two missing balls from the green felt. He wasn't going to call them on their obvious attempts at cheating, because his shot – the one that most professionals wouldn't even attempt – was perfectly lined up for him. Well, impossibly lined up since that shot should have been impossible if it weren't for the fact that the Winchester's spent their lives hustling pool so they could afford to eat when the credit cards ran dry. It was amazing how good you could get at something when the next meal relied on it.

Dean bent over the table, lined up the cue and hesitated for a second while he caught the attention of the Boar. When he took the shot, he turned his back and rubbed more chalk onto his cue as he listened to the balls sinking one by one in the pockets… all four of them.

Dean had won, just as Sam had known he would and now he was really worried.

"How the hell did you do that?" The Boar asked incredulously. He was leaning with both hands on the pool table, staring at the hole the black ball had sunk into as if the ball would climb out on it's own and save him the humiliating defeat. "Ain't nobody could take that shot!"

"There's a first time for everything," Dean reminded him, grabbing up his money and pocketing it with confidence. "Now, normally I'd stick around and let you buy me a beer, but little brother here says it's time to move out so we'll catch you ladies next time."

Sam watched as Dean turned and headed toward the nearest exit and he hurried to keep up with him. No way he wanted to get himself caught off guard and no way he was going to get himself left behind with those butchers. Dean didn't stop until they were almost at the Impala and then he turned his attention to his brother.

"So, you were saying?" Dean asked, grinning.

"I was saying that if we get out of here alive we're going to be damn lucky, now get your ass in the car and lets get the hell out of here!" Sam snapped, frustrated that his brother would ignore his instincts like that and risk antagonising the biker's further than he had to.

"What's the matter, Sammy? You running scared?" Dean teased, his tone indicating that he meant it in a good-natured way but all it did was further annoy Sam. "Okay, okay, we're going!"

Sam reached for the handle of the passenger side of the door, relieved to nearly be out of there… but the beer bottle smashing on the door mere inches from his hands made him reassess how free and clear they really were.

"What were you saying?" Sam muttered at Dean as they turned to face the person… or gang of people… that had thrown the beer bottle.

"No little princess is gonna take me for two hundred!" The Boar yelled, his voice taking on a threatening growl.

"I didn't," Dean snapped. "I took you for three hundred!"

Sam sighed.

"Why do you do that?" he asked his brother as the gang moved in closer.

"I really don't know," Dean admitted. "Coz it's fun?"

"What is? Waking up in the hospital with your teeth missing?" Sam snapped back. "Don't know what's so fun about that!"

"Are you seriously going to give me a hard time now?" Dean asked, turning to face his little brother. Sam followed suit and soon they were eye to eye, anger flaring between them. "You too blind to see what's happening here, little bother?"

"Not as blind as you are for getting us into this situation – again!" Sam yelled back. "You too stupid to realise when you're in over your head, or have you just gotten so used to be the best at everything that you cant stand it when you're wrong?"

"Ha! Now the truth comes out!" Dean mocked him, as the gang hesitated, each member exchanging looks with another, trying to figure out what was going on and whether they'd get to fight or just watch. "You've always been jealous of me!"

"Me? You just couldn't stand it that I scored my first demon a full year younger than you did!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

The instant the brother's were certain that their would-be attackers were confused enough, they sprang into action. They each threw a hard Winchester hit at the nose of the nearest and biggest of the men, and then turned to disable the ones around them. Sam saw an opportunity for him to do what he did best and took full advantage of it. The minute he landed that awesome spinning back kick that even Dean envied he knew how Dean felt when he set himself impossible goals in whatever pool game he was currently engaging in. There was something about a challenge that left the Winchester's hungry, and Sam knew that that was what kept them coming back for more when there was nothing else. Sometimes a hunt was just a hunt and there was no one really to save or protect, so they went in there and came up with new and interesting ways to take out the bad guy.

And this time, for Sam, it was landing that perfect kick that knocked The Boar on his ass instantly. It was truly a thing of beauty…

…the only problem was, the biker's had a tactic of their own that put a damper on things. The one they held back.

Sam felt something crack on the back of his head so hard he saw stars – and not the ones hanging in the sky above – and his legs gave out on him. He maintained consciousness, but as he struggled to get to his feet, he felt someone come up from behind him and then came the all-too familiar choking.

Why did all the bad guys insist on trying to choke me to death, Sam wondered as he fought for air. The painful, rasping gasps of breath that he managed to get into his lungs wasn't nearly enough this time, and he clawed at the hands behind him. They were big and beefy and he knew that from his position on his knees there would be no way to get himself out of this one.

"Dean!" he called as loud as he could, gripping the cue that was pressed against his throat. The second he got his brother's name out, he heard a crack as loud as thunder as Dean finished up with his last opponent and turned his attention to the little brother fighting for breath. Sam would have gasped out his brother's name once more if he could have managed it, but the cue was pressing tighter into his throat than before and he could barely breathe now… all that was coming out was a sickening, wet gasp.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

The minute Dean saw his little brother on his knee's, he stopped everything. He didn't breathe, he didn't move, he didn't dare do anything that might provoke The Boar's right hand man from making that one last movement and snapping Sammy's neck. Dean held his hands up in surrender, assuring them he was unarmed and willing to do whatever they wanted to, when in actual fact he felt naked and useless. He had never felt so powerless in his life… except once, and that feeling had seeped out of him the minute he saw those traffic cams and came up with a game plan to get his little brother back… well, until later when he was bound to a chair with a thirteen year old girl holding a knife on him while Dean was forced to listen to the gunshots that could be the ones ending Sam's life. That feeling had returned quickly and with a vengeance, and now it was back again.

"Whoa," he managed to get out, almost choking on the lump in his throat as he watched his brother turning a disturbing shade of purple. "You don't have to do that, man, come on…"

The Man wrenched the cue tighter against Sam's throat, eliciting a pained gargle from the younger Winchester. Sam didn't have much longer before he was rendered completely unconscious, but he was obviously fighting the darkness at the edges of his vision as best he could.

"Hang on, Sammy," Dean pleaded with his brother. He turned his attention to The Boar, who was getting uneasily to his feet, rubbing his head where Sam's kick had connected. Dean glanced between his brother and The Boar and wondered how he could get them out of this. "You want your money back? Is that it?"

The Boar laughed.

"If that's what you want," Dean pulled the three hundred out of his pocket and held it up. "Take it! It's yours! Just let my brother go…"

"You think, now that I have the upper hand here, that I'm gonna let him go for a measly two hundred?" The Boar asked, laughing.

"Three hundred," Dean muttered, still uncertain as to why he insisted on correcting the man who now held Sam's life in his hands. He glanced at his little brother, knowing they were mere seconds away from running out of time. "Then what do you want?"

"Sweeten the honey pot, baby, and I'll let your little brother go," The Boar told him. "You gotta double the bounty."

"You want six? You can have six," Dean assured him, fishing the keys out of his pocket and hurrying to the trunk of the Impala with The Boar not far behind. Dean had to force the sounds of his brother struggling for breath out of his mind in order to be able to get the trunk open. He barely managed, and pulled out the shotgun swiftly enough that when he rammed the butt of it into the Boar's throat he was able to take him by surprise.

The Boar lay choking on the ground as Dean rushed The Man who still held Sammy hostage as he seemed to be oblivious to his surroundings as he pulled tighter on the cue. Sam appeared to go limp, and Dean hoped that it was because he somehow knew that Dean had gained the upper hand and was in full rescue mode.

It didn't matter because as Dean cocked the shotgun and pressed the barrel against the back of The Man's neck, Sam was released and he fell to the ground with a loud thud.

"You wanna survive this night?" Dean growled in The Man's ear. "Then collect your garbage and get out of here… now!"

The Man nodded to the other's to get the unconscious members of the gang and move them out, while he grinned an evil grin. He spun around quickly, prepared to fight to the end, when he was taken off guard – and off balance – by the younger Winchester who had seen his move coming through hazy vision and stuck his leg out to prevent the coming attack.

Dean laughed and wondered how he had ever doubted that his little brother had been in on the plan, even through the shades of the barely conscious. Sam wasn't about to allow himself to pass out from a mere lack of oxygen if he thought Dean needed his help.

Dropping to his knees besides his little brother, Dean pulled Sam to the best sitting position he could manage and held his face in his hands while he made sure Sam was okay and still with him.

"Sam?" he called to him, serious now that he saw the pain in his brother's eyes and the still purple tinge to his lips. "Sam! You hear me? Come on, Sammy!"

Sam was clearly trying to breathe, though he still struggled through what must now be a sore and swollen throat, and worse still was the exhaustion that crept through his entire body. A lack of oxygen, Dean knew, could cause more than a few problems and as much as he had joked that Sam must have suffered permanent brain damage on one of the occasions some minion of hell had tried to kill him, he worried more now than ever before. Never had Sam come quite so close to losing the battle for air, and Dean knew that there hadn't been much time left for him to come to the rescue…

…they had been damn lucky this time.

"Don't think this is the end of this!" The Boar gargled as he was led away by one of his goons. "We got more tricks up our sleeve than you know!"

Dean ignored The Boar's wild rants and kept all of his attention on his little brother.

"Sam?" he tried again, his voice softer. Sam had closed his eyes, and Dean wasn't sure he liked that. He bent lower, putting his cheek as close to Sam's slightly parted lips as he could and was relieved to feel the warmth of Sam's breath. It was shaky and unsteady, but it was there. Dean nodded. "I'll take what I can get," he decided and got to his feet, pulling his barely conscious brother along with him. "As long as it comes with a pulse, little brother, because I accept no substitutes. Sammy in one piece is the only option, and that's all there is to it."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Sam awoke the next morning feeling like he'd slept with an elephant on his throat. The minute he tried to move he felt pain in his neck and shoulders, chasing each other down his spine. He wondered how long he had been out since he didn't remember anything after he hit the ground, and now he had soft pillows under his head. Dean had obviously gotten them to safety, relatively in tact and with the money safely in his pockets because they were clearly in a motel room instead of the Impala where they had slept the previous night – well, Sam assumed it had been the previous night, but…

He didn't get to finish his rambling thoughts as the concerned eyes of his big brother hovered into his blurred vision. Dean's lips were moving as if he were speaking, but Sam couldn't hear what he was saying. He closed his eyes again, figuring his must still be asleep anyway, so why fight it, but when Dean reached out to him and shook his shoulder until the pain that blared through Sam forced his eyes open again, he knew he wasn't asleep.

"Wh-what?" Sam stammered, realising that talking was probably the least smart thing he could have done right now. He tried to sit up, but the pain in his neck and throat resisted the movement and it wasn't until Dean gently pulled him up and settled him against the headboard and pillows that Sam was able to sit up properly. "Wh…"

"Don't try and talk," Dean interrupted him. "You have to rest your throat, Sammy…"

Sam tried to swallow, his eyes watching Dean as his older brother rubbed tired and clearly un-rested eyes in effort to stay alert. He wondered how long Dean had been there. Had he fallen asleep in that chair? Had he sat there, watching, all night? Sam knew the answer, there was never really any question. Dean wouldn't have moved even three feet from Sam's bed last night.

"Where are we?" Sam asked, forcing the hoarse words out of his throat, closing his eyes against the pain that they caused.

"A motel a couple of hours from that bar," Dean answered. "I figured it was best to put as much distance between us and the biker's as possible, especially since they were still throwing threats around when they stumbled out of that parking lot last night."

"Great," Sam muttered. He tried to pull himself out of bed, but hesitated when Dean reached for him. "You been there all night, huh."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Dean nodded, though he didn't elaborate enough to tell Sam how he had sat watching his little brother's chest rise and fall for the past fourteen hours to make sure he was still breathing. He didn't say that he had nearly rushing him to hospital when Sam's breathing had become so painful and ragged that it sounded like the closest thing Dean had ever heard to a death rattle. He didn't tell Sam that he had thought that this time, after everything else he had been able to protect him from, he had failed to protect his brother. Sam didn't need to know that, and Dean was determined to protect him from whatever was to come next – even his own anxieties.

"Yeah, been sat here all night. The stupid motel only had one room available and would you believe that it only has one bed?" Dean tried to sound as naturally annoyed as he would normally be, but he wasn't sure that he was successful because even he heard the concern that edged his words. "How you feeling? And answer that in one word or less please."

Sam chuckled and Dean regretted his attempt at humour because the chuckle caused a fresh look of pain on Sam's features and the younger man paled visibly.

"I'm okay," Sam assured him, trying to get out of bed again. Dean reached out to stop him, but thought better of it. Instead he took Sam's arm and helped him to his feet, holding onto him until he was sure Sam was stable. Sam reached a hand to his throat, checking the external damage with shaking fingers as the effort of moving so quickly wore him down. "Geez, pool cues pack more of a punch than I remember."

"You're supposed to stay off your throat, remember?" Dean told him, his words laced with more frustration than he had intended. He caught the look that Sam shot him and it took him a moment to recognise the meaning of that look. He had expected anger, frustration, annoyance but instead he was rewarded with the rare look of compliance.

Instead of arguing, Sam merely nodded and made his way to the bathroom.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Sam closed the door behind him and reached immediately for the basin in front of him to steady himself. He was tired and sore, but slowly he was beginning to feel a bit more normal. He figured a shower and a change of clothes, maybe a decent breakfast and he'd be as good as new… or at least a bit less damaged.

Glancing in the mirror, however, made Sam reconsider that possibility as he recognised the dark purple creeping up his neck, the clear mark of the dramas of the night before. He had bore slight bruises before, but nothing quite this dark and dramatic, at least not from this type of injury. Dean really wasn't kidding when he said he had to take it easy, Sam had had no idea of how serious it had been. He could very well have…

Refusing to finish his thought, Sam took full advantage of the facilities and then had a shower – a ridiculously cold shower, since apparently the motel was too cheap to put in a hot water system. Only once before did he remember staying in a motel that had such dodgy hot water, and that was because if you were one of the first five in the entire motel complex to shower, you'd freeze.

Rushing through the shower, Sam washed quickly and turned off the shower, jumping out and wrapping a towel around his waste before leaving the bathroom in search of clean clothes He wondered if Dean was going to be amenable to the idea of going out for breakfast or was this going to be like the time Sam had had his tonsils out and hadn't been allowed to the leave the room for two weeks. He hoped for bacon and eggs, maybe some toast and orange juice, but he was hit by the sudden realisation that it might have to be jelly and custard since he wasn't too certain of his swallowing capabilities.

When he walked into the room, however, he was greeted by an emptiness that made him surprisingly nervous. He was used to coming out and finding Dean had gone for food. Sam, himself, had done that several times while Dean slept or showered, but this time it bothered Sam that he was suddenly alone. That feeling, the threat of imminent danger he had felt the night before, hung once more in the air so strong it held it's own personality. He wondered if that meant the danger he had sensed before hadn't actually been because of the biker gang that had tried to kill him in the parking lot, but was in fact related to something else entirely.

Could there be another threat headed their way?

Sam pulled his jeans and boots on quickly, grabbing a shirt on his way out the door to peer into the parking lot as if the Impala might hold the answers…

…but the Impala was gone.

Sam hurried back inside and grabbed his cell phone from the nightstand, immediately hitting the call button for his brother. The phone rang several times before redirecting itself to Dean's voicemail, and it sent a chill up Sam's spine. He ended the call and immediately dialled again, hoping to hear his brother's voice at the other end calling him an idiot for being worried when he was merely out looking for coffee.

Instead all he got was voicemail… again.

Sam hung up and tossed the phone on the bed in frustration. What the hell was going on? Why wouldn't Dean answer? Maybe he was hurt? Maybe he couldn't get to his phone? Maybe he'd had an accident? Maybe the biker's had caught up with him again? Maybe…

Sam ignored the fears racing through his mind and grabbed up his phone again.

"Sam?" Dean answered, sounding confused. "You okay?"

"Dean?" Sam felt increasingly panicked, and he wasn't sure why. All he knew was that there was something very wrong and they were about to find out what it was. Something in Dean's voice told him that the feeling wasn't lost on him either, and Sam wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. "I think we have a problem…"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Dean heard the fear in his brother's voice the instant Sam spoke, and it sent chills through his entire body. This couldn't be good, Dean knew. He wished he hadn't left Sam alone now, but there was nothing he could do about that now except get back to him as fast as he could. He had been trying to call him for ten minutes, but for some reason he hadn't been able to get through. All he had gotten was either a busy tone or Sam's voicemail, and he had started to really get worried. With steaming custard and cold jelly sloshing in bowls beside him, he put his foot on the gas and aimed the Impala toward the motel where he had left his little brother alone.

What had he been thinking?

"I'm on my way back now," Dean assured his brother. "Sammy? I'll be right there! Sammy!"

There was nothing silence at the end of the phone, followed by a strange cackling sound that was almost human and then the phone cut out. Dean tossed it aside and forced the car to its limit. He knew there was something wrong, Sam was in trouble – serious trouble – he just knew it!

The motel came into view quicker than even Dean was prepared for, and he swerved to get into the parking lot with a squeal of tyres. He parked the Impala outside the room he shared with Sam and launched himself out the door, gun in hand. He pushed the door open and burst inside, but what was waiting for him wasn't what he had been prepared for…

**SUPERNATURAL**

**A/N – As always, I hope you like it, and I hope you're thoroughly confused about what was waiting for Dean at the motel room… I don't like to be predictable, so I'll be bummed if you figure it out! Feel free to take a guess, and reviews are always welcome!**


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, I know… the boys, the car, the whole thing is Kripke's. But I have the dvds and I reserve the right to play with my boys like puppets and put them through all sorts of dilemma's that make me feel better about the fact that I have nothing to do with the show itself! I like to call myself the PUPPETMASTER! Mwahahahahaha! Point? Not mine. Sad.

Dedicated to: Sairah, the one and only person who picked it! Not likely, huh Sairah? Guess again!

**Chapter Two**

Sam crouched behind the bed, his hands trembling, his heart racing, his palms sweating, but he was prepared for anything. He could take on anything, he knew he could, and he was going to. He would wait for whatever it was that was about to burst through that door, and when it did he would follow the golden rule that he had lived by for so long…

Shoot first, ask questions later.

That was exactly what he would do, and if the question part never happened then that would be fine with him… as long as the question part didn't happen because it was the thing that was dead and not him. He wouldn't be very popular if he died today.

He heard a car engine roar just outside the door. He gripped the gun tighter in his hand and got on his knees so he could peer over the top of the bed. He steadied the gun on the mattress, hoping it would help his aim and balance better. When you didn't know what was coming at you, you had to be prepared for anything! He knew the rules.

The door swung open.

A man stood in the doorway, glancing around the room.

Sam steadied the gun, aimed carefully. He tried to remember what he had been told about aiming a weapon when you're at a disadvantaged position. Aim low, go for the body shot. It was your biggest target and your best chance at disabling your opponent.

"Sam?" the man called, concern in his voice. Sam hesitated, wondering why a stranger would care about him. He nearly asked who was there since he couldn't see properly from where he was, but then he realised that that would break the golden rule.

Instead of asking who was there, he aimed the gun, closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger.

BANG!

"Dammit, Sammy, what the hell are you doing?" the man yelled, ducking back out the door to safety. After a moment, he peered back inside and Sam tried to get a closer look at him. He still didn't recognise him, but that tone… could it be? Nah, no way! And yet… he sounded an awful lot like…

"Dean?" Sam asked, his voice soft and trembling. "Is that you?"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

When Dean heard the voice from behind the bed, he snapped his eyes in that direction and saw frightened eyes staring up at him. Dean recognised those eyes, but that voice… something was very wrong with that voice! And yet, it was so familiar…

"Sammy?" Dean called, stepping inside, tucking his gun into the back of his jeans. "Come out, Sam, it's okay."

Dean could hear rustling behind the bed and he waited as his brother pulled himself gingerly to his feet.

"Come on, little brother," Dean called, impatience gripping him even as fear and realisation slowly began to take hold of him. When he saw his brother, Sam Winchester, standing before him in clothes way too big for him, Dean was convinced he must be going crazy. "Or, littler brother…"

The Sam Winchester standing behind the bed looking scared and confused, was no older than six years old. He wasn't holding the gun anymore, he was wringing his hands as if he was trying to keep them still. Dean opened his mouth to say something comforting, but no sound would come out and he realised that, for the first time in his life, he was honestly and completely lost for words.

"Dean?" Sammy asked.

Dean nodded his head slowly, not sure what else he could do.

"When did you get so…" Sammy hesitated, glancing away uncertainly. He seemed to consider his next words carefully, as if afraid of making Dean angry. Dean wondered if it was because he was afraid of him, or if he wasn't convinced that he was actually Dean. Finally, he decided on the right word in his six year old vocabulary. "Old?"

Dean blinked.

He hesitated.

"Ah," he began before clamping his mouth shut again. He had virtually raised the little kid before him, but he was supposed to be done with that part of their lives. Sammy was raised, he was grown. Dean still looked out for him and felt responsible for him, but the times he had spent cutting Sam's meat for him was supposed to be behind them by now. "I…"

There were so many things that Dean didn't know about right now. Like, for example, what the hell happened? How is it possible for Dean to leave the room with a fully grown man inside, only to come back and find a six year old in his place? And what the hell was Dean supposed to do now? Sam wasn'y just trapped in a six year old body, he seemed to have the memories and abilities of a six year old – which was a good thing because if it had been Sam under normal circumstances, that bullet wouldn't have missed and Dean wouldn't been in as good a mood right now…

How did he explain to little Sammy Winchester what had happened to him when Dean didn't even understand it himself? He would be afraid and confused, more so than he was right now. At this point, Sammy probably thought that there was just something weird going on, and that was nothing unusual in their world, even when Sam was six. John Winchester had always tried to give him as normal a life as possible, for both his boys, but that was hard to do when his work kept following him home. Sam knew more than most people about the things that went bump in the night, but he had been sheltered from the worst of the worst at the time…

Oh God, Dean thought, closing his eyes at the thought. What if he asked where his father was?

Dean decided not to think about that and turned his attention back to his little brother. Sammy stood in the same spot, looking just as afraid as he had a few seconds ago. He was clearly waiting for his big brother to say something that would make everything okay again, but Dean just didn't know what he could possibly say. He could see the slightest glimmer of the hero worship that had been there before Sam had left for Stanford, but it wasn't at its full strength yet. Dean was certain that Sammy didn't quite trust him yet, he wasn't quite certain of what was happening. Dean took a step toward him, hoping to help him feel better, but the movement seemed to have been too sudden for the… youngest Winchester because he turned and ran into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

"Oh boy," Dean muttered to himself. "What now?"

Dean needed help, there was no question about it. For one thing, he needed help trying to figure out what had happened and how to fix it, and he knew that there was no way he'd be able to do that on his own… that and the fact that he needed help dealing with a six year old Sammy.

And whatever had happened to Sam left Dean short-manned.

He picked up his cell phone and scrolled through the numbers. He'd need the team on this one, he decided, and started by dialling the best support he could think of under the circumstances.

"Pastor Jim?" Dean asked when his old friend answered the phone at the other end. He didn't wait for Jim to say anything more than hello before diving in. "I have a little… problem… with Sammy."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Twenty minutes later, Dean was kneeling outside the bathroom door with his lock pick set, making quick work of it. He had tried coaxing Sam out from the room on his own, but Dean was getting nowhere fast. He had to be able to get inside, to see Sam's eyes and convince him that he was the big brother he had always been. Dean just didn't know how to deal with Sam at that age anymore, not now. It was different to how it had been before, they had both been on a similar level, both kids and able to understand each other. But right now? Dean hadn't been Sammy's age in over twenty years, how was he supposed to understand what he was feeling?

Dean finally managed to get the door unlocked and pushed it open carefully. He stayed in his position for a moment, seeing Sammy squatting in the shower and hiding his face in his arms as he pulled his knees closer to his chest.

"Sammy?" Dean called out to him, not entering the bathroom yet. "Sammy, can I come in?"

There was a tiny whimper from the shower. Dean didn't know if it meant yes or no, but it sounded too small and weak and afraid that he ached to get inside and be closer to Sammy, to make him feel better. He edged inside and settled just outside the shower where he could reach out and take Sammy's hand. He didn't, though, knowing that right now he had to convince Sammy that it was him, to earn that trust back before he settled his own need to comfort Sammy.

"Do you remember when you had nightmares about that little boy who was being chased by a big dog with fangs and fire coming out his nostrils?" Dean asked, remembering the recurring nightmare that he was certain had something to do with a creature their father had been hunting and Sammy had stumbled into its path somehow. Sammy had never talked about it, and though the creature bore no resemblance at all to the one in Sammy's dream, Dean was certain that that was where the nightmares had come from.

Sammy nodded at the memory and raised his head to look at Dean. That was a start, Dean thought, and returned his thoughts to the memory of his little brother waking up in tears every night for a month.

"Do you remember what I told you then?" Dean asked. Sammy looked confused for a moment, and Dean started to wonder if he had started on the wrong path after all. "Remember? I told you that Dad had saved the little boy and that the creature was dead and buried."

Sammy nodded.

"Daddy didn't save the little boy," Sammy protested. Dean wrinkled his brow, confused by Sammy's words. He had always told him that their father had taken care of it and saved the little boy from Sammy's dream, and Sammy had never questioned it. He never questioned Dean back then – that had started with puberty… well, Sammy had started questioning their father then, Dean had still been the hero for a few more years.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, unable to hide his confusion.

"Daddy didn't save me," Sammy told him. "You did… I remember. I know you told me Daddy did, but he didn't. It was you, really."

Dean nodded.

"That's true," he admitted. "I did…"

_Dean had heard the door open and close when he was taking dishes out to the kitchen in their tiny apartment one night, and when he realised that Sammy was missing, he'd run out to find him – shotgun and all. The Impala was nearby, Dean knew that because he could he the rumbling of the engine, but Sammy was nowhere to be seen – at least not at first._

_As the Impala rounded the corner, Dean heard a loud roar and turned toward the woods several feet away. Sammy was standing there, peering up toward the end of the street to catch a glimpse of their father coming home, only he was completely unaware of the creature that was now stalking him. When it began to roar, Sammy turned back toward Dean and began running as fast as he could, but his tiny legs rendered him too slow and Dean could see the creature gaining on him._

_Everything was in slow motion, and when Dean realised that it was going to be up to him to deal with this since their father would never reach them in time, he raised the shotgun, cocked it, steadied his stance and took aim._

"_Sammy, DUCK!" Dean yelled at him, never feeling so afraid in his entire life. Thankfully, every Winchester knew that, when someone yelled 'duck', you ducked. The second Sammy hit the ground, covering his head with his hands, Dean pulled the trigger. The strange looking creature was hit square in the chest and yet it leapt toward Sammy's tiny form._

_Dean shot again._

_Almost as if it were able to fly through the air, the creature turned its attention toward Dean and suddenly it was almost on top of him._

_Dean fired once more._

_This time, the creature let out a blood-curdling scream and landed not three feet from Sammy and lay still and bleeding. The Impala pulled up nearby with a screech of the breaks and John Winchester covered the distance between him and his boys in only a few rushed steps. He scooped up his youngest son, speaking to him with soothing tones that could be heard between the frightened sobs of the young boy, and then turned his attention to Dean._

"_You did good," John told him simply, before carrying Sammy inside where it was safe. Dean followed, shotgun in hand, and though he never knew what happened to the creature after that, he never really felt like he needed to know. Sammy was safe, the creature was dead, and their father stayed home with them for three weeks after that._

_And every night for a month, Dean told a crying Sammy that he didn't need to be afraid anymore because Daddy had killed the scary monster and saved the little boy. Now, he knew, Sammy had always remembered that it had been Dean who had saved the day, but Sammy had let Dean continue making their father out to be the hero. Dean wasn't sure why that meant so much to him, but he couldn't pretend it didn't. It felt good to know Sammy had known Dean had saved him, but it felt good to know that Sammy let him tell the same story every night just to make him feel better…_

Shaking his head at the thought, Dean pulled his little brother out of the shower and into his lap, wrapping his arms around him tight. Sammy was still shaking a little, but soon he seemed to relax into the embrace and calm down considerably.

Sammy was safe again, and they both knew it.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"Dean?" Sammy asked, his tone uncertain as he sat in the seat beside his brother as they made their way out of town. Sammy had no idea where they were, or where they were going next, but he was used to that. When you're the littlest in the family you don't get told a lot, it was just the way it was and he had learned not to ask questions.

"Yeah?" Dean asked, shooting him a look.

"When did you learn how to drive?" Sammy asked. His eyes were wide with awe as he watched his big brother guide the car expertly across the blacktops, always remembering to stop at red lights and not to hit the other cars on the road – or the little puppy that had run out in front of them, eliciting a frightened squeal out of the youngest Winchester.

Dean chuckled.

"Oh, a long time ago, kid," Dean told him.

"When will I learn?" Sammy asked, curiously.

Dean didn't seem to know how to answer that question, but Sammy waited patiently for an answer anyway. He wondered if he would ever learn how to drive or if he would be treated like the baby forever. He could never get away from being the youngest, and now that Dean was so much older than him he wondered if he would ever grow up!

"Ahhh, when you can at least reach the pedals and see over the steering wheel," Dean told him, trying to focus on the road. "Meanwhile, why don't you try and sleep, we have a long drive ahead of us and it's just going to be boring for you."

"Nah," Sammy disagreed. "You got old so fast, if I go to sleep you might be bald and grey before I wake up! You could even have middle aged spread or menopause or something!"

Dean laughed out loud when Sammy said that, causing Sammy to pout. He looked so hurt that Dean would find him funny that he crossed his arms across his chest and stared out the window a moment before talking again.

"I don't think menopause is very funny," Sammy muttered unhappily.

"No, I guess it's not that funny," Dean agreed. "Sorry, kid, you just threw me with that one… where did you hear about those things?"

"It was on the telly, something about how when people get old they do these weird things like getting spreaded and menopaused," Sammy explained, happy that Dean wasn't laughing at him anymore. "Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean asked, swallowing another chuckle as he glanced down at his little brother.

"What's menopause?" Sammy asked, his eyes wide with innocence. "I mean, I know that the spreading thing has something to do with your feet, but…"

"Huh?"

"On MASH, the old guy said he had a spread and feet of clay."

"Oh," Dean muttered. "I can't say I remember that episode, but go on…"

"So what's menopause?"

Dean sighed.

"You know what, Sammy?" Dean began, not taking his eyes off the road again. Probably a good thing, Sammy thought, since all the puppies were outside the car and Dean couldn't avoid them if he was looking inside the car all the time. "We're going to visit Pastor Jim, and I bet he could explain it a lot better than I could!"

"Why?" Sammy asked.

"Well, for one thing, he's a priest," Dean reminded him. Sammy nodded as if that made the most sense in the world – and it did, since priests were supposed to know everything so they could keep up with God, right? "And for another thing, he has all those books, and at least one of them has to be on something other than the supernatural, right?"

Sammy laughed so hard he threw his head back against the seat.

"I saw one once!" he announced proudly. Dean glanced at him as Sammy hesitated to add a dramatic effect to his comment. "It was the dictionary!"

Dean smiled and turned his attention back to the road. Sammy reached for the radio and turned it on, humming away to a song that he clearly didn't know, and within a few minutes he had hummed himself to sleep…

Several hours later, when Dean pulled into Pastor Jim's driveway, he recognised Bobby's truck on the other side of the house. He had never been so relieved to see the two men standing on the porch in front of the house in his life. He was surprised Bobby had beaten them there, but he knew he shouldn't be since it was normal for him to drop everything and run to wherever the Winchester's needed him.

Dean reached over and gently woke Sammy. He opened his eyes and struggled with the door, excited as always to see the man who had so often taken care of him. Dean, on the other hand, was slower to react than the younger Winchester. He didn't have the energy of a six year old anymore, and he wasn't quite so eager to answer all the questions that… well, that he just couldn't answer.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Jim Murphy stood beside Bobby as they heard the Impala pull up, but he was confused when it stopped and the only person he saw inside was Dean. He couldn't understand where Sam was, Dean had said that he needed their help with Sam and considering he was adamant about calling in Bobby as well, it had to be something pretty serious.

"Didn't he say that Sam was going to be with him?" Bobby asked, clearly as confused as Jim was.

"Well, he didn't say that specifically," Jim explained. "He just said he had a problem with Sam and he needed our help… but what could that mean if Sam's not…"

Jim trailed off as he saw a small head with a mop of dark hair on top of it peer over the window seconds before he piled out of the car and tore up the driveway.

"Pastor Jim, Pastor Jim!" the young voice called out, and Jim immediately understood what the problem was. Little Sammy Winchester launched himself at Jim, almost bowling him over in the process. He wrapped his little arms around Jim and held him as tight as he could. "I haven't seen you in ages!"

"Yes," Jim agreed, not having to lie about that. "When was the last time I saw you?"

"Ummmmm, when Daddy had to run off and get that poltergeist in Michigan," Sammy reminded him, looking up at Jim with wide eyes. "We played Go Fish!"

Jim chuckled at the memory as Dean had tried to 'cheat' at the game, but Sammy had caught him every time and had managed to win all but two of the pairs in the deck. Jim glanced over at Bobby and offered him a sad smile before lowering his voice to include only him.

"That's when Sam was six," he explained to the confused looking hunter. The minute Dean joined them, Jim opened his mouth to ask the most obvious question of his life.

He never got to ask as Dean looked so sad he stopped the priest in his tracks.

"Don't ask me," Dean warned them both, pulling Sammy away from Jim and ruffling his hair good-naturedly. "I have no idea. You got any idea, Squirt?"

"Nope," Sammy agreed, looking between all of them. "Don't ask me why you're so old!"

Jim laughed.

"Charming kid," Bobby muttered, scratching his head in confusion.

"Yeah," Jim agreed. "At least, he always thought so…" He looked at Dean carefully for a moment and saw strain on the young mans face. He was clearly confused and upset by this turn of events, but not surprising that he was already completely focussed on the young boy in his charge that he wouldn't stop to think about it for a long time yet.

Dean looked tired, stressed, drawn, and he refused to take his eyes of his… well, his Little Brother. Definitely little now, Jim thought. He sighed and decided to take action since everyone else seemed uncertain of what to do and Sammy was standing quietly by Dean's side, impatiently rocking from one foot to the other.

Before Jim had a chance to speak, however, Sammy turned and ran in the direction of the woods, laughing excitedly.

"SAMMY!" Dean called, urgency in his voice. "Sammy! Stop!"

Dean took off after the younger boy and quickly gained on him, scooping him up in his arms easily and tossing him over his shoulder as he slowed and turned to walk back to the house. Sammy was no longer laughing, instead he was looking rather perturbed as he dangled over his brother's shoulder.

"Aw, De-ean!" Sammy whined. "I just wanted to see if the baby fish were still in the river!"

"Not today, Sammy," Dean told him, clearly trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible even though he was already feeling the strain of the situation. "You have to stay with me, okay? You can't go running off right now. I mean it!"

"Aw, you're no fun anymore," Sammy moaned, resigning himself to his position as they stomped up the steps again to join Jim and Bobby. "You're worse than Daddy."

Jim caught Dean's eye, wanting to ask if the young Sammy knew about their father, but Dean pursed his lips tightly and shook his head slightly. Jim and Bobby exchanged concerned glances, knowing that that one question off Sammy's lips could be all it took to make this situation a whole lot worse.

How do you tell a six year old that his father was dead?

"Ah," Jim began, trying to remember what he was going to say before Sammy ran off. "I think we should go inside… we clearly have a lot to talk about."

Dean nodded and led the way inside, refusing to put a now-squirming Sammy down until the door was safely closed – and locked – behind them. Jim couldn't help but wonder why Sammy had been made six years old… why six? If he were a few years older, at least he would have been able to shoot. Right now, however, Sammy was a liability. Oh, what a word to use for a Winchester, ANY Winchester, Jim thought sadly. Yet it was true. They had to protect little Sammy or they would lose their Sam forever and they couldn't risk that. He wasn't sure how any of them could ever survive losing Sam – especially Dean.

But why six? Sammy had one nasty habit when he was six. He had been a sweet kid, honest, generous, feeling, compassionate… he always wanted to help. He cried when his father was hurt but only because he thought his father couldn't cry for himself and when things hurt you were supposed to cry, Sammy had argued… but that one annoying, terrifying habit Sammy had?

He had a habit of taking off…

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Dean hung his head in his hands as he tried to explain what had happened, but there were no words to explain it. For one thing, how could he explain something he didn't understand himself? All he knew was that he went out in search of breakfast when he had been overwhelmed by a feeling that something was wrong and Sam was in trouble. He hadn't been able to get in touch with Sam and by the time he had gotten back to the motel… well, Sam wasn't his normal self anymore.

How could that make any sense?

"What do I do?" Dean asked. "I can't raise him all over again. I mean, there's gotta be something we can do here, right?"

Jim and Bobby exchanged grave looks and Dean sighed, leaning back on the couch he was sitting on.

"I really wish you guys would quit doing that," Dean muttered.

"Sorry," Bobby sighed, rubbing his eyes. "We're just trying to figure this out. I mean, it makes no sense! He can't have gotten like this on his own, there's no way… it almost sounds like some kind of a hex or something."

"That's what I was thinking," Jim agreed. "But that's some very old magics you're talking about here. I mean, we're talking ancient."

There was a loud crash coming from the kitchen and Dean immediately jumped to his feet and rushed through the door. He found Sammy sitting on the kitchen floor surrounded by pots and pans, a sheepish grin on his face when he looked up and saw his big brother staring down at him.

"Whoops," Sammy announced, innocently.

"Whoops," Dean muttered, forcing a smile on his face as he knelt down and picked up a pot. "You gonna help me clean this up or do I have to cook you on the stove for lunch?"

Sammy immediately grabbed a pot and tried to find the matching lid. A few minutes later, Dean had managed to put everything away – rematching the pots and lids that Sammy had mismatched – and he picked Sammy up, holding him by the ankles so he dangled upside down until he giggled.

"What do you say you stay in the lounge with me, huh?" Dean suggested, righting Sammy onto his feet again. "Just sit quietly for a while, and then we'll get you something to eat."

"Aw, but you guys are talking about boring stuff," Sammy grumbled.

"Oh-kay," Dean thought a moment. "How about I ask Pastor Jim to get out some of your toys, and you can play in the lounge room then?"

Sammy grinned and nodded enthusiastically.

"But you'd have to be real quiet because we have some really important stuff we're talking about, okay?" Dean asked, making it sound like Sammy had a really important job to do. When Sammy nodded again, he led the boy into the lounge and relayed his request for toys to Pastor Jim. "And maybe some of his old clothes if you happen to have any here?"

"As a matter of fact," Jim got to his feet and headed out into the hall and pulling open the cupboard. "That was the summer of frequently skinned knees, too much finger paint and a growth spurt… we have a couple of repaired jeans, shirts and a slightly painted pair of pyjamas."

Jim returned with a large box marked "Sammy's Things" and placed it on the floor in front of Sammy and Dean. Dean opened it and pulled out a pair of jeans, undershirt and T-Shirt that he gave to Sammy. He dug a little deeper and was relieved to find a pair of boxer shorts that he could add to the pile in Sammy's outstretched arms.

"Run to your room and get change – real quick! If you're not back in five minutes I'm going to come and get you," Dean warned him. "When you get back I'll have some of your toys out, okay?"

Sammy nodded and raced off.

"You know what I always notice about kids?" Bobby asked no one in particular. "They run everywhere… where they get that energy I will never know, but if we could bottle it, we'd make a fortune!"

"I'll say," Dean agreed. "I'm exhausted already, and he's only been like that for less than a day!" He busied himself by pulling out some toys that he remembered had always been Sammy's favourites when he was little. "So, you were saying something about ancient magic?"

"Well, yeah," Bobby sighed. "But that doesn't really make any sense unless…"

Silence filled the room.

Dean glanced at Jim, wondering if he knew what Bobby had been about to say before he trailed off, but Jim shrugged his shoulders so Dean turned his attention back to Bobby instead.

"Unless?" he prompted.

"Well, you piss anyone off lately?" Bobby asked carefully. "I mean, you're a lot like your Daddy, but you're not normally quite so…"

Dean looked away and pretended to find another toy in the box that he thought Sammy might like, but in actual fact he didn't really like talking about his father and found himself avoiding eye contact whenever he was mentioned.

"Well, we're hunters, Bobby, what do you think?" Dean asked, finally looking up again. "I mean, we had a hunt last week that wasn't popular, but I would have thought that they would have caused trouble by now if they were going to."

"What was the hunt?" Jim asked.

"Nothing huge, just some creature that was terrorising a small town a couple of days drive south of here. Turned out to be a werewolf style creature, human by day, creature by night, only it was a little different," Dean explained. "It was more viscous and it didn't need the phases of the moon to change. It also seemed to have specific victims… the biggest problem is that it took the mayor's daughter before we could stop it, and according to the research there was no turning back from that… the girls father shot her and we were run out of town…"

"Wow, that is one helluva bad hunt," Bobby groaned. "I had one like that once, but there's nothing you can do but what you boys did… were they open to what you were telling them? Werewolves and stuff?"

Dean shrugged.

"Reacted like anyone else at first, I guess," Dean explained. "I mean, we had a few 'your crazy' type insults, though not quite that polite… but they got it and accepted it. Didn't seem to be as open as I've seen people be to the idea, though, just faced with a situation that had no other explanation – especially when we locked up the mayor's daughter and they watched her change… it was kind of a no brainer after that."

"Damn," Bobby muttered. "I was kind of hoping that maybe they had some kind of a supernatural history to 'em, but if they had to see a werewolf to believe it, chances are there's nothing unusual there. Anything else?"

"No," Dean answered.

"What about last night?" Jim suggested. "What did you boys get up to?"

"Well, Sam had a couple of beers, but you know Sam…" Dean began, rubbing his temples again. A thought suddenly occurred to him and he glanced around him. "He's been a little too quiet, don't you think?"

Dean got to his feet and walked quickly through the kitchen, down the hall and into the room he and his brother had always shared when they were younger. His heart skipped a beat when he pushed the door open and he saw a pile of adult Sam's clothes on the back of a chair – neatly folded like always – and…

…no sign of Sammy anywhere!

**SUPERNATURAL**

**A/N – There you have it, folks. Another chapter, another cliffhanger and hopefully more reviews! I hope you're all surprised by Sammy's LITTLE predicament!**


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, I know… the boys, the car, the whole thing is Kripke's. But I have the dvds and I reserve the right to play with my boys like puppets and put them through all sorts of dilemma's that make me feel better about the fact that I have nothing to do with the show itself! I like to call myself the PUPPETMASTER! Mwahahahahaha! Point? Not mine. Sad.

**Chapter Three**

Dean's heart was in his throat as he started racing through each room, throwing doors open wildly as he searched for his missing little brother. When he had seen the biker with the cue at Sam's throat the night before and heard how much pain Sam was in as he had struggled to breathe, Dean had thought he could never feel more fear than that… until now. The fear that gripped him at this very moment was stronger and more debilitating than anything he had ever felt in his life.

He hadn't forgotten how Sam had liked to disappear when he was young. He had always like playing Hide and Seek and he was frighteningly good at it. But not just that, he had a strong curiosity that seemed to flow right through his veins, and it had almost gotten him in trouble several times… one time worse than the others.

Sam had almost died.

_John Winchester was on another hunt, like always. He left Sam and Dean alone in the motel room, just like he always had, but this motel room was particularly uncomfortable. It smelled awful, since it was right near a junk yard. Dean had kept the motel closed up as best he could, but nothing could keep that smell out completely… and one day, Sam had wondered off, shouting 'hide and seek' as he raced off._

Dean had only just gotten out of the shower, he was wearing nothing more than a towel and he hurried to the room he and Sam shared to throw some clothes on. He moved as fast as he could, not even bothering to lace up his shoes before running out the door, but it was too late. He couldn't find Sam anywhere, he had gotten too far ahead of Dean and he wasn't sure he would be able to find him.

_After trying to find Sam for over an hour, Dean grew increasingly worried and rushed back to the motel room where he grabbed up the phone and dialled his father's number for the first time. He had always known that he could call his dad if he had to, but he had never had to before. He'd always been able to take care of things on his own, but this time something deep inside him told him there was something very wrong…_

_John answered after several rings._

"Dean?" John asked, concern etched in his voice. "What's wrong?"

"_I can't find Sammy!" Dean told his father, trying to remain as calm as possible when really he was terrified that something had happened to his little brother. "He took off to play hide and seek and he didn't wait for me, he just ran…"_

"_I'm an hour away, Dean," John told him. "Keep looking for Sammy, and take the cell phone with you. I'll call you as soon as I get home and meet up with you, okay?"_

_Dean remained silent._

"Okay, Dean?" John pushed.

"_I'm sorry, Daddy," Dean said sadly. "I didn't mean to lose him, I was in the shower and…"_

"_It's okay, son," John told him, but Dean wasn't convinced. His father was just trying not to scare him too much until they had found Sammy, and then he would rip him apart. "Just keep looking for him…"_

_Dean had hung up the phone and grabbed the cell phone his father always left for his boys just in case something like this happened and they were separated unexpectedly. The minute his hands were on the phone, he raced out the door and down the road. He thought Sammy might be hiding somewhere at the junk yard, but he wasn't sure where._

_It was an hour later that John called and joined Dean at the junk yard…_

_Another hour before they finally found Sammy… barely conscious, trapped inside an old refrigerator. It was one of those that locked when it closed, they had stopped making them because kids hid inside and got trapped, slowly suffocating to death._

_Sammy's lips had started turning blue, and the minute his father lifted him out of the refrigerator, Sammy had started gasping for air, coughing and wheezing violently. John sat on the ground with him, rocking him gently back and forth as he tried to sooth the young boy as he struggled for air. Dean knelt beside them and rubbed Sammy's back as tears fell down his own cheeks._

_John didn't have to tell Dean how close they had come to losing Sammy for good, and Dean knew he would never forget it…_

"Sammy?" Dean called, hoping that he was just hiding in a cupboard somewhere. He ripped open every door to every room, and every cupboard he could find – even small ones. He banged loudly on the bathroom door as he saw Bobby and Jim rushing up the hall toward him. There was no sound inside, and Dean pushed the door open wildly, hoping to see his brother huddled in the shower like earlier in the day at the motel room. "Where is he?"

Dean could hear the panic in his voice. He could see in the faces of the men standing before him that it hadn't gone unnoticed by them either.

"I'll check the church," Jim announced.

"I'll start at the woods," Bobby added.

Dean nodded and rushed outside, uncertain of what he was going to do. Everyone else had a destination in mind, and he just stood there feeling completely useless. Adult Sam and Six Year Old Sammy seemed like two completely different people. He was extremely protective of both of them, and he knew that protecting Little Sammy was the only way he would be able to save Adult Sam… and right now it was looking more and more like a losing battle!

This was not a battle that he could afford to lose.

Dean took off at a run, making his way over the grounds as he tried to see if his brother was off playing somewhere. Maybe he had only meant to play in the yard somewhere but he had seen something that had caught his attention and he had run off… maybe… maybe… maybe…

"Sammy!" Dean yelled, fear catching in his throat. He could lose his brother, the sole reason he had done everything he had ever done in his life, and now he was facing the very real possibility of failing him. That thought – and the hundred's of terrible 'what if' situations he had come up with – pounded through his mind with every step that he took. "SAMMY!!!"

Jim was standing at the edge of the field where Dean was searching, waving him over. Dean hurried to him, desperate in the hope that Jim had found Sammy somewhere and that he was going to tell him he was okay.

The news wasn't quite that good.

"Nothing at the church," Jim reported, breathless. "There's no sign he's even been there."

"What about Bobby?" Dean asked, gasping for breath as well. He knew his lack of breath had nothing to do with the exertion of running, rather the panic he felt at losing Sammy and the difficulty he had in trying not to choke on his heart as it pounded painfully in his throat.

"I don't know, he's not back yet," Jim told him. No sooner had he said those words than Bobby appeared nearby, shaking his head.

Dean's heart plummeted.

"Where is he?!?" Dean asked, as if pleading for an answer. He looked at his friends as they all stood with grave looks on their faces, concern in their eyes, rapid pulses beating in their throats. "Where the hell is he?!?"

"Wait," Bobby announced as a thought occurred to him. He looked steadily at Dean as if willing him to remember something. "This morning, when you got here… he ran off to see something, remember? What was it?"

Dean hesitated, and then sudden realisation came over him, leaving him cold and trembling with a new thought… a fear that hadn't even occurred to him yet…

"Oh God," he breathed, paling. "The fish! The lake!"

Dean was running even before he could finish the thought. He ran passed the church, passed the woods, through the graveyard at the back of the church and down the little hill that he and Sam had rolled down when they were little. He nearly lost his footing a number of times, and as he heard the footsteps pounding behind him, he knew that he wasn't the only one struggling with the difficult terrain.

About halfway down the hill, however, the lake came into view and Dean felt immediately sick when he recognised the red shirt filled with water about ten feet from the shore. He nearly fell out of sheer panic as he ran faster, and suddenly his jeans were wet and he found himself wading waste deep in the water.

He had to swim the last four and a half feet to get to Sammy as he floated face down. He barely remembered to breathe as he scooped his little brother's limp body under his arm and towed him back into the shore. As soon as he could find the bottom with his feet he stood up and carried Sammy to where Jim and Bobby waited.

His throat was tight as a painful lump made its presence known. His heart raced so fast in his chest he thought he was going to have a heart attack, and he felt tears streaming down his face. For the first time he didn't bother to try and hide it from the others, he didn't bother to wipe them away as he lowered the lifeless body of his little brother gently to the ground…

…he had lost too much already, he could damn well cry at the thought of losing Sammy!

Dean knelt beside his brother and checked for a pulse.

Nothing.

He wasn't breathing, wasn't moving, there was no sign of life. Jim dropped to his knees opposite Dean and, as Dean breathed two quick breaths into his brother's mouth, Jim readied himself to start compressions on the little boys' chest.

"Come on Sammy," Dean pleaded, waiting for Jim to give him the signal to breathe again. He did and then watched as Jim pressed Sammy's chest, willing him to live again. "Come on, Sammy! COME ON!!!"

Another breathe…

And another…

Seconds felt like minutes, minutes like hours and Dean was starting to worry that they wouldn't be able to bring Sammy back. How long had he been out there? How long had he been without oxygen? He tried to remember how long it was before the brain was damaged from a lack of oxygen, and his mind was immediately filled with thoughts of his little brother living the rest of his life with brain damage. Whether Sammy had to live his life over again or if they returned him to his normal age, it didn't matter… none of it would matter if they couldn't get him back right now.

Sam was the smart one, scary smart. Dean had often wondered where that had come from, because his father had battle smarts, and so did Dean, but Sam had something else entirely. He knew how to fight a war, he knew how to do everything that Dean and their father knew, and yet he had knowledge of so many other things that didn't just give him scary ass scores in school, but also made him invaluable in a hunt.

How would Dean ever be able to look his brother in the eye if he lost everything his brother was? Everything he was meant to be? Sam had wanted to be a lawyer! He would never get to be a lawyer if he didn't start to breathe!!!

As if on cue, just as Dean pulled from one last breath and felt himself about to crumple from his colossal failure, Sammy opened his eyes and began to choke. Water that had invade his lungs came up as Jim rolled him onto his side, and Dean fell from his knees to a full sitting position as if too weak to even hold himself up properly.

Dean glanced briefly at Jim and saw the mirror image of his own tears and relief in the older man's eyes, but all attention was pulled back to little Sammy as he lay panting and gasping for breath.

"Dean?" Sammy wheezed, trying to move to get to his brother. Dean reached out for him and pulled him into his arms, trying to keep the little boy warm. He noticed for the first time the bump on his head and the blood that was now trickling into his hairline, mixing with drips of water.

"It's okay now," Dean assured him. He looked up at Jim and Bobby, struggling to get to his feet without having to release his hold on Sammy. "We gotta get him back to the house."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

An hour later, Sammy had had a hot bath and was changed into some warm pyjamas and had fallen asleep in the lounge room with his head on Dean's knee as the fire crackled nearby to warm him. The wound on his head hadn't been as bad as it had looked, but it was obviously enough to have knocked him unconscious. There was no sign of concussion, which was a relief. Sammy seemed to be his same old self – just a little tired and thrown by what had happened.

Dean was relieved that he hadn't had to call an ambulance because he wasn't set up to explain a six year old. He was used to having different identities, but this was a little different to their normal situation.

"I guess twenty years hasn't dulled his ability to drive me crazy," Dean muttered, glancing down at Sammy. He was breathing evenly, steadily, and Dean was relieved to see the colour returning to his cheeks. "Near as I can figure, he was on his way to the lake and fell down that damn hill… hit his head, obviously, and fell into the water."

"Sounds about right," Jim agreed. He and Bobby both looked as tired as Dean felt.

"What are those?" Dean asked, sighing deeply as he brushed a stray hair out of Sammy's eyes. He indicated the books that Bobby had in front of him. He had a couple open, some were closed in a pile nearby.

"I've been trying to figure out what kind of whatever did this to Sam," Bobby explained. "From everything I know, it can only be magic – but real ancient, like Jimmy Boy says."

"Yeah, you were saying that it didn't make sense unless we had pissed someone off?" Dean asked again, trying to focus his attention on the situation at hand. Truth be told, he couldn't help but watch Sammy as he slept, as if looking away for more than a minute at a time he would disappear and he would never find him again.

"Exactly. See, hex's, curses, whatever you wanna call it… they're personal. They're revenge…" Bobby explained. "Someone wants to hurt Sam, make him vulnerable. Why, I don't know but there's gotta be a reason for it. Sam, being a Winchester after all, must have someone who wants to see him hurt – or worse."

"You think someone did this to him so they can, what? Kill him?" Dean asked, a knot forming in his stomach. "Why not just use a bullet? Why put us through this?"

"Bullets don't have a good history with you boys, you have this habit of surviving stuff that most people wouldn't," Jim pointed out, proudly. "You're not the easiest people to kill."

"Doesn't go for all Winchester's," Dean muttered, a tinge of anger in his voice.

"You know that wouldn't have happened to your dad if he hadn't let it," Jim told him. "John had a reason to stand there, he was fighting for your life, not his…"

Dean pushed the thought out of his mind, preferring not to think about the fact that his father was dead because of him. That guilt had nearly killed him at the time, nearly torn him and Sam apart, and he had realised how to deal with it was to push it all aside and move on.

"You were going to tell us about last night?" Jim reminded Dean, taking his cue from the younger man and changing the subject. "Sam was having beer…"

"Yeah," Dean began, clearing his throat. He wanted to shift in his seat, but he didn't want to disturb his sleeping brother. "Sam was sitting at the bar, and I was playing pool."

"You mean hustling pool, right?" Jim chuckled.

"Well, yeah," Dean told them. "Anyway, I took the guy for three hundred and they… well, they didn't take it too well. They followed us to the parking lot, attacked us… one of them nearly killed Sam, choking him with a pool cue, but we got out of there."

"How did you leave it?" Bobby asked.

"With most of them piled up on the ground, the leader was spouting off threats… nothing unusual," Dean told them. He saw the disbelief on their faces and he wondered if he was going to get a lecture about scamming people in a bar. Still, it was the Winchester way, and quite often it was their only way of being able to make money. "What? I'm not saying that everyone we hustle takes it that personally, but it happens sometimes."

"You said 'leader'?" Bobby asked, ignoring Dean's explanation. "Leader of what?"

"I don't know," Dean told them. "Some kind of biker gang. Sam seemed to know them but he didn't tell me who they were."

"Not even after the attack?" Jim asked.

"He wasn't exactly able to talk… he was barely conscious and then…" Dean stopped when Sammy shifted, moaning lightly in his sleep as if something was worrying him. Dean laid his hand on his brother's back and immediately Sammy settled. "What is it with this biker gang?"

"Well, I don't know about what Sam was talking about, but some biker gangs out there have affiliations with… well, witches, guru's, any number of supernatural things that could cause this kind of damage," Bobby told him. "Can you tell me anything about them? It might give me a lead on who they are and, hopefully, that will tell us who they're using."

"I don't know! They just look like biker's, normal biker's… tattoos, leather, you know what they're about as well as I do," Dean snapped. He hesitated as memories of the night before flooded his mind and he suddenly realised he knew more about them than he realised. "Sam told me they did time, they were dangerous… and the big guy had a tatt of some kind of pig, or wild hog on his forearm."

"A boar?" Bobby asked, leaning forward in his chair suddenly. "If that's them, we have a serious problem…"

"What problem?" Dean asked.

"Well, the only thing I know about that they could be using doesn't even have a name. I mean, you could say it's a type of spirit, but way more dangerous… it has abilities beyond that of most normal spirits. Most people say that he was some kind of mystic when he was alive, but he died," Bobby said. "From what I hear, these guys stole something from the Mystic and have been controlling him ever since. Hell, for all I know, they may have killed him for exactly that reason… they can take revenge on whoever they want – and they're not exactly fussy over what they'll avenge."

"Damn," Dean sighed. "This would turn out to be my fault, wouldn't it…"

"This isn't your fault," Jim told him. "At least it gives us something to go on… meanwhile, you might want to be more careful who you hustle next time."

"You got that right," Dean muttered. He brushed the hair out of Sammy's eyes again, only this time he hesitated over Sammy's forehead. "He's warm."

Jim got to his feet and bent over the young boy, checking his temperature with the back of his hand. Dean knew Sammy was running a fever, and he wondered how bad it was. He had felt burning hot to Dean, but when he saw the concerned look on Jim's face Dean grew even more concerned.

"Is he okay?" Dean asked.

"He's got a temperature," Jim told him. "He may have caught a bit of a cold today. Put him to bed, he'll rest better in there."

Dean nodded and got to his feet, lifting Sammy with him. He carried the sleeping boy into their bedroom and laid him down gently. He covered him with a sheet, but left the blankets off. He didn't want Sammy getting any hotter than he already was.

Pulling a chair alongside Sammy's bed, Dean settled in for the duration. Jim and Bobby knew where he was, and they didn't need him right now… Sammy needed him. And if truth be told, Dean needed to be with Sammy. He was terrified of losing him again.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Panicked, Dean woke Pastor Jim at three a.m. He shook him awake urgently and when he finally had Jim's attention he held Sammy in his arms, his eyes wide with worry. Dean was wearing the same jeans as he had had on the night before, and he showed no signs of having slept.

"Dean?" Jim sat up, rubbing his eyes and trying to focus his attention on what was going on. He couldn't make his brain understand why he was seeing Dean standing in his room, hold Sammy in his arms… but the second reality kicked in and he was finally able to make everything compute, he jumped out of bed and was by their side in seconds. "What's wrong?"

"He's burning up," Dean told him. "He wont stop shivering…"

Jim reached out and pressed his hand to the little boys head, pulling away immediately. He wasn't sure how high the temperature was, but it was worse than he had expected.

"He needs to go to the hospital, Dean," Jim told him. "Now… I cant treat him here."

"I'll take him," Dean nodded, hurrying out the door.

"I'll change and come with you," Jim offered, trying to slow Dean's pace a little.

"No," Dean disagreed, not stopping. "I don't want to wait that long, I'll call you from the hospital."

"Dean, slow down!" Jim called.

Dean was out the door and rushed to the Impala before Jim could catch up with him. He tore up the street with a scream of the engine and the screech of tyres. Bobby appeared beside Jim a moment later looking as wide awake as ever. Jim had often wondered if Bobby ever actually needed sleep to survive.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Sammy's sick," Jim told him, concern lacing his voice.

"How sick?" Bobby wanted to know, still staring after the car.

"I don't know," Jim admitted. "Not good."

Bobby nodded, pulling his keys from his pocket.

"So, I'm going to the hospital," Bobby agreed. "Under the circumstances, if someone out there has hexed Sam for the reasons we think, Dean could need backup."

"You think that they're not far away?"

"Nope," Bobby agreed. "If it were me, I'd be nearby waiting for my opportunity… I'll call you when I know anything."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Ten minutes later, as Dean approached the hospital he pressed his hand against his brother's forehead. It was frighteningly hot and part of him wished he had waited for Jim to come with him. He knew more about medical stuff than anyone Dean knew, and he was invaluable when it came to a trip to the emergency room.

Dean saw the entrance to the parking lot for the emergency room and he drove in there as fast as he dared. Seeing an empty place, he pulled in and jumped out of the car. When he rushed to the passenger side of the car and pulled the door open, he reached inside to collect his brother…

…and everything went dark.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Bobby pulled into the parking lot what he estimated to be a minute behind Dean. He couldn't see the Impala yet, but he was certain that Dean wasn't far in front of him. He assumed Dean was taking Sammy inside, so he drove looking for a park space that might be near the Impala. He wanted to be in close proximity to the boys when they came out of the hospital, he had to watch his back just in case someone tried something…

The minute he saw the Impala, however, he knew he had to move fast.

"Damn!" Bobby grunted, throwing the truck into park and jumping out. He ran toward the Impala where the passenger side door stood open and Dean was leaning inside the car. Bobby saw the shadow of a man sneaking up behind Dean, and though Bobby knew it wasn't easy to get the drop on Dean, he also knew that Dean was worried about Sammy – possibly enough to not hear the man coming near him.

"Dean!" Bobby called out, hoping to get his attention in time to stop the attack. "Look out!"

Dean turned toward the cry and raised his arm to stop the attack. As Bobby ran, he saw the man pull out a weapon and thrust it at Dean, connecting with his shoulder. Dean hit the ground, and though he tried to get to his feet and seemed to be trying to reach his brother as the man pulled Sammy out of the car and began carrying the boy away, he couldn't seem to move.

Bobby headed straight for the man who had Sammy, pulling his gun straight away. He got in the path of the attacker and thrust the barrel of the gun in his face.

"Give the boy to me, or you'll be entering that hospital through the back door," Bobby warned him, taking the safety off. "Hand him over!"

The man, wise enough to hesitate, finally released his hold on Sammy, allowing Bobby to take him in his arms.

"Now get back in your car, and get the hell out of here," Bobby told him. "And don't think we wont fix this, you little rodent. You tell your boss that he'd better be ready, because pretty soon the tables are gonna turn…"

Bobby kept the gun trained on the man's back and kept it on him until the car was completely out of sight. Only then did he turn his attention to the fallen Winchester, rushing to his side. He laid Sammy back inside the Impala and dropped to his knees beside Dean. He pressed a finger against Dean's throat to check his pulse… it was erratic, but it was there and it was strong.

"Dean? Can you hear me?"

Dean murmured and seemed to be trying to move, so Bobby pulled him to a sitting position, leaning him carefully against the car.

"Are you okay?" Bobby asked when Dean pried his eyes open and grunted through whatever pain he was in. Bobby wanted to get a look at Dean's shoulder, knowing there was probably going to have a nasty taser burn that would need treatment, but there was no way he could get Dean treatment here without alerting the authorities, and with Sammy in the position he was in… Bobby fished out his cell phone and dialled Jim Murphy. "Jim, can you get down here? Someone came after Sam and Dean…"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Dean was pacing the waiting room, unable to sit still since being tasered in the parking lot and feeling anxious about what the doctors would tell him was wrong with Sammy. Dean was used to hospital visits, but he never remembered Sammy being taken to the hospital when he was so young. It was definitely easier to deal with when they were adults… but Sammy, little Sammy? The thought of him lying in a hospital bed, fragile, alone and afraid terrified Dean and defied every older brother gene he had.

What he was going to tell the doctor when he came out to see the boys' family, Dean hadn't figured out.

Pastor Jim hurried into the waiting room. It was such a small room that he didn't have to look around to find them, Dean and Bobby were the only ones there. When he joined them, Bobby got to his feet while Dean continued pacing a wear mark into the hospitals grungy carpet.

"Has anyone been out yet?" Jim asked.

"No, not yet," Bobby told him. "Any chance you can get him to sit down? He's making me dizzy."

Jim glanced at Dean who spent his time moving from one end of the room to the other and glancing at the clock on the wall. He seemed on edge, and from what Bobby had said it was more than Sammy's condition that had him pacing like he was on speed.

"Dean, why don't you sit down so I can get a look at that shoulder?" Jim asked. "I might be able to fix you up before anyone comes out, it'll be better that way."

Dean shook his head as if to say no, but there was no real indication that he had heard the suggestion as his eyes darted around the room.

"Why isn't the doctor here yet?" he asked for the umpteenth time. "He should be here, that's why he gets paid whatever it is that he gets paid, right? To fix people, to tell families what's wrong with them? Why isn't he doing that?"

Jim sighed and physically led Dean to a seat, pulling his shirt and jacket aside to get a better look at his shoulder. The burn wasn't too bad, a simple dressing would do the trick but he'd need somewhere with a bit more privacy than he had here to do it. Given it wasn't major, he figured he could wait until the opportunity presented itself.

As Jim replaced Dean's shirt, covering up the burn, a man approached them. Dean jumped to his feet, impatience and anxiety etched on his face.

"How is he?" Dean asked.

"Are you the boys family?" the doctor asked.

"I'm his brother," Dean told him without thinking.

"Samuel Murphy?" the doctor asked. Dean nodded without hesitation. The doctor glanced at Jim curiously. "He's a relative of yours, Pastor?"

"My nephew," Jim lied. He hated lying, but for a Winchester he'd do just about anything. They saved lives for a living, and sometimes they needed a little back up. Pastor Jim would always help where he could.

"Okay, well Sam had a temperature of 101.2 when you brought him in. We have him on IV fluids and antibiotics and if all goes well tonight he can go home in the morning," the doctor explained. "He'll need another course of antibiotics when he goes home and it's important to keep him warm. This could have ended up a lot more serious, and if he doesn't get proper care it still could."

"How serious?" Jim asked.

"Pneumonia… he's a lucky boy." The doctor held eye contact with Dean for a moment longer to make sure he understood what he was saying, and finally he turned and left them alone.

Dean sighed.

"He thinks it's my fault," Dean muttered angrily to himself. "Can't say I blame him, coz he's right."

"What are you talking about?" Jim asked.

"He's like this because of me. He took off because of me… he nearly drowned because of me, and now he's sick and could have died because of me! And when that bastard tried to take him right out from under me, where the hell was I? I let myself get jumped and if Bobby hadn't gotten here when he did…" Dean sat down and angrily hit his leg as if trying to release some frustration. "He's six years old for less than a day and how many times have I nearly gotten him killed?"

"Dean, you helped him get to 23, isn't that worth something?" Jim asked, moving right into counsellor mode. "You did that when you were busy growing up yourself! And now you're faced with a little kid who doesn't understand what's going on and doesn't understand why you're so much older than him all of a sudden, he's just confused… and he always had a habit of taking off. Even your dad had to chase him when he was little, and sometimes the kid slipped right through his fingers."

"Whatever," Dean muttered, getting to his feet. "I'm gonna go sit with my brother. Why don't you guys try and figure out what the hell we do next? I want this over tomorrow, I mean it!"

**SUPERNATURAL**

**A/N – As usual, reviews welcome. No nasty cliffy to keep you all up at night this time around. I love cliffy's, so enjoy the break while you can!**


	4. Chapter 4

Dedicated: SammyGirl1963. Don't know what it is, but that's twice I've come up with the major moment in the plot while I've been reading your reviews… here's the first one, the one you've been waiting for! I really hope I got it finished in time… but four hours isn't a lot of time when you're writing, so I'm sorry if you had to go to sleep without knowing!

A/N - I got this chapter out in four hours as a special gift to one of my readers hehehe So if there's any mistakes, they are my own and since I am my own beta anyway, they're always my mistakes but this time I didn't get to check it over either! I tried to do it as I went along, but if there's any mistakes, whoops :)

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, I know… the boys, the car, the whole thing is Kripke's. But I have the dvds and I reserve the right to play with my boys like puppets and put them through all sorts of dilemma's that make me feel better about the fact that I have nothing to do with the show itself! I like to call myself the PUPPETMASTER! Mwahahahahaha! Point? Not mine. Sad.

**Chapter Four**

Dean awoke the following morning with a sore next and stiff muscles all down his back. He had fallen asleep with his head resting against one edge of Sammy's pillow with one arm thrown across him as if to make sure he didn't disappear during the night. As he pulled away, however, he realised that he wasn't the only one awake. Sammy was smiling at him, obviously watching him while he slept and waiting for him to wake up.

Sammy reached one arm up to rub the bristles on Dean's cheek and he giggled quietly.

"Heya, Squirt," Dean greeted him, his voice husky from sleep. "How do you feel this morning?"

"You're all spiky," he announced brightly. "And you make funny noises when you sleep."

"What funny noises?" Dean asked, too tired to be able to make sense of a six year olds rampaging mind… any six year old would have been difficult to keep up with, but Sammy? Boy, his mind was always years ahead of itself, Dean thought.

"Like Daddy," Sammy explained. "Daddy snorts when he's asleep."

"You mean he snores," Dean offered. Sammy nodded a grinned, a cheeky glint in his eyes. Dean straightened his back and forced an offended look on his face. "I do NOT snore!!!"

Sammy's smile widened, and the most innocent look Dean had ever seen entered his eyes.

"Do too," he insisted in a tiny voice, the very picture of innocence.

Before Dean could argue, a doctor entered the room with a nurse in tow. Dean had no idea who they were since he had slept through ever shift change since Sammy had been admitted – except once when a nurse had had to shift Sammy to get his arm off the call button and the second Sammy had been moved Dean had been on high alert. He refused to close his eyes again until he knew Sammy was okay and had gotten a full report from the nurse.

The good news had been that Sammy's fever had finally broken.

"How's the nurses favourite patient this morning?" the doctor asked, grinning cheerfully. Sammy smiled back at him brightly, pleased at being so popular with the nurses. Normally it was Dean turning heads, but then how could he ever do that when he had an adorable six year old brother standing right next to him? Especially when the kid was sick, that tended to make women all maternal.

"Good!" Sammy answered cheerfully.

"Well, that's what I think too!" the doctor told him. He turned his attention to Dean and, though he maintained the friendly tone of the conversation, his eyes sent a very important message that Dean read loud and clear. "We're releasing him now, but you're going to have to watch him very closely. If his temperature starts climbing again, bring him straight back. We had him on some pretty strong antibiotics, and pumped a whole lot of fluids into him, but if he doesn't get the proper care he needs at home he could still end up a very sick little boy."

"I understand," Dean assured him. If Sam had been his normal adult self, he would have told the doctor to shove it, that they'd be fine and he didn't like the implication that he didn't know what he was doing… but with little Sammy, Dean saved the attitude. He was too hyper-aware of how bad things had gotten, and how much worse they could have been. There was no way he was going to risk it happening again. "Rug up, lots of fluids and rest, antibiotics… anything else?"

"No, that should just about cover it. He's a Murphy, so I'd imagine your uncle would know most of this anyway," the doctor reminded him, as if Dean didn't know how lucky he was to have Pastor Jim there whenever he needed him. "Here's his pills, he has to take the whole course. There is a repeat on there just in case, but I wouldn't imagine you'd need to fill it unless he's going to be a particularly difficult patient and not take his medicine?"

The last question was aimed at Sammy as a warning that he had to be a good boy and take all his pills, and Sammy nodded with a wide-eyed serious look that promised to do as he was told.

"Okay then, we'll release him… you need to sign this," the doctor handed a form to Dean that he quickly scribbled his 'name' on, and the second the paper was back in the doctors hands, Sammy was trying to wiggle out of bed.

"Let's go home!" Sammy yelled, excitement obvious in his voice.

"Ahh, not just yet, Squirt," Dean told him, pressing him back against the pillows. "They haven't taken the needle out yet, and you don't want to have to go home with the drip do you?"

Sammy looked up at the contraption that had been pumping fluids into his arm and sighed. He looked as if he were considering his options, and finally he turned back to Dean and shook his head.

"Not really," he admitted, sounding sad that he couldn't just leave right away.

"Then you're going to have to wait just a little bit longer while the nurse unhooks you, and then we'll get you changed," Dean suggested. When the nurse approached Sammy's arm and began tugging the tape from around the needle, Dean took his brother's hand in his and refocussed his attention in case it hurt when they took it out. A Winchester was tough, yes, but the kid was only six! "So, guess who stopped by late last night with some brand new jeans for you?"

Sammy's eyes widened as if it was Christmas morning and he was about to get the greatest present in the world.

"Daddy?" Sammy asked, hope filling his eyes.

"No," Dean answered, wishing he hadn't sounded so excited. He could see the question approaching but he hoped he would still be able to avoid it. "Pastor Jim… he brought you some new jeans and some new shirts – just in case you put too many holes in the other ones."

"Oh," Sammy replied, lowering his eyes. Dean bit his lip, waiting. He knew it was coming, but when the sad eyes looked back up at him, he wasn't prepared for the lump to appear in his throat with it. He knew he was going to have to have this conversation, but he really didn't want to do it just yet.

"All done!" the nurse announced happily, collecting the remainder of her things before leaving the room.

Dean pried himself out of the most uncomfortable chair in the world and walked awkwardly across the room to the cupboard that had his brother's new clothes in it. He tried to work the kinks out of his back as he moved, but there was no improvement by the time he returned to hand the clothes to Sammy. Sammy still looked sad, but he had gone quiet and Dean knew that the dreaded question wouldn't be raised again for a little while yet.

But it was coming…

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

It was almost thirty minutes later that Dean pulled into Pastor Jim's driveway with a silent Sammy in the passenger seat. He glanced out the window and saw Bobby and Pastor Jim were on their way to greet them, both still looking concerned about the young boy, and neither looked like they had slept a wink all night. Still, they were walking better than Dean, so he figured there had to be benefits to a sleepless night at home.

Dean climbed out of the car and moved around to the passenger side where Jim was opening Sammy's door. Sammy didn't seem too enthusiastic at the thought of getting out of the car, which suggested to Dean that The Question was coming soon after all… sooner than he was prepared for.

With Adult Sam, Dean was used to answering questions, he knew how to keep information from him when he needed to… and every now and then that patented Sam Winchester look, the Puppy Dog Eyes, won him over and he found his resolve fading and his ability to keep anything from Sam dissolving. Now, however, it was totally different. Sammy… six years old… The Look was a lot harder to ignore than ever before, and when he glanced up at Dean with that look in his eyes, Dean swallowed hard. He had a lump in his throat at the thought of how sad Sammy would be to hear the truth, how painful it would be for him to tell it, and worse still was the sadness he already saw in Sammy's eyes.

"Come on, kiddo," Dean announced, trying to break the tension and ignore the question hanging in the air. "Gotta get you inside where it's warm, huh?"

Sammy didn't answer, and he didn't move. Dean wondered if he had retained some of his adult knowledge because he didn't honestly remember Sam being stubborn enough in an argument that he flat out refused to budge at that age. When he was older, sure, especially when he finally got taller than Dean. Young Sammy, however, had forgotten to factor in one thing…

…Dean was a lot bigger than him now, and he could carry him inside if he had to.

"Come on, doctors orders," Dean reminded him. "You promised him you'd do as you were told, remember?"

Sammy's brow furrowed, but finally he turned a stomped his way up the short path to the porch. When he reached the steps he made a point of making sure that each footstep was loud enough on the steps to make an echo through the house.

Dean exchanged looks with Jim and Bobby, seeing the question in their eyes.

"He started asking about Dad," Dean told them. He hesitated, seeing Sammy finally make his way inside before he scrubbed a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes. He had never been quite this tired before, and he really didn't care to repeat the experience. "Have you guys found anything?"

"You wanna talk out here?" Bobby asked, glancing at the closed door to the house.

"Better out of range of little ears," Dean answered, his voice weary. "What have you got?"

"Well, we know that this mystic is a spirit, so a salt and burn would be a good start… but we think you'd need to burn the object the bikers stole from him too, otherwise it's useless," Bobby began, his voice changing into a steady stream of professionalism, though the hint of concern in his eyes told a different story. "The only thing is, we're not sure what would happen if you got rid of the mystic before we figured out a way to turn Sammy back."

"So, I go in there, salt and burn the body and what? Sammy could stay like this forever?" Dean asked. "Would he age again, or would he stay six for the rest of our lives? That cant be possible, can it?"

"We think he would age as if he were a normal six year old kid," Jim told him. "Not even the mystic has the power to stop that, at least not completely."

Dean knew that Jim intended his words to be a comfort, but instead he just felt as if he were losing control, like his life was spiralling into some netherworld that he had never dreamed could exist. Instead of feeling like he had a plan, a way to save his brother, he felt like there was no light at the end of the tunnel.

Even though there was a miniature version of Sam inside the house standing right in front of him, Dean felt like he had lost his brother. The little Sammy was a way to protect the brother he was trying to rescue – keep him safe so that Sam could be brought back to his normal self, his normal life, and they could carry on as if this whole thing had never happened. But if he couldn't turn Sam back, how would he deal with that? The relationship they had shared would be destroyed forever. Everything they had, everything Dean had left in the world would be lost forever, and he was left raising a little boy all on his own… only this time he wouldn't have his father coming home every now and then from playing soldier.

Dean never realised before how angry he was at his father for being a part time dad, full time drill sergeant, but right now that feeling was almost overwhelming… what was even harder for him to deal with right now, however, was his father's willingness to sacrifice himself to save Dean's life when Dean wasn't nearly equipped to deal with the repercussions of that decision. His Dad was dead, and Dean was left standing in the wake, still trying to deal with his own feelings on the matter… all he had had to help him get through was Sam. Sam was the one constant in his life, and as much as he had lashed out at him at first, tossing all his anger at his little brother in a vein attempt to feel better about everything – and to try and drive his father's words out of his mind – he had always known that Sam would be there.

Now, however, Dean was faced with the very real possibility of once again carrying every ounce of family responsibility on his own shoulders with no one left to share the burden. And by the time Sam reached 23 again, Dean would be twenty years older than him and their relationship would have morphed from one of an easy brotherly banter to one of a father figure having raised Sammy since he was six… again. Only this time, Dean wasn't a kid and that filled him with more anxiety at the thought of being responsible for him. He was concerned that, without that childlike hope – even the tiny glimmer he had managed to carry with him when he was young – he would turn out to be just like John Winchester…

…drill sergeant first, everything else and far off second.

Dean sighed heavily, unsure as to how much time had passed since he had last spoken. He realised that Bobby had been speaking and had asked Dean a question that he had completely missed. There was no way he could come up with an answer that would hide his lapse in concentration, instead he had to smile sheepishly and try to apologise for missing the conversation.

Bobby glanced at Jim, concern in his eyes, when he obviously thought Dean wasn't paying attention, but the suggestion that was there hadn't passed Dean by completely. Bobby and Jim had probably been talking about what to do if the situation arose that Sammy wasn't able to be returned to normal, and he was sure that they had decided he wasn't up to the challenge of raising the kid… no way in hell were they going to step in and take Sammy away from him!

No way!

"What?" Dean asked, when no one spoke. "What's going on? I feel like I'm missing something…"

"Well," Jim began. So it was going to land on poor ole Pastor Jim to explain what they thought they had decided… so be it, Dean thought as he waited for Jim to continue. The older man took a deep breath and let it out slowly before plunging into the conversation. "We were talking about it, and we thought that it would be better for everyone under those circumstances if Sammy stayed here with me."

"No," Dean stated flatly.

"Dean, you have to realise that we're trying to do what's best for Sammy here… and you. But this isn't really about you, or any of us, right now. It's about Sam. He's already spent one lifetime on the road, following in your father's wake, do you really want that to happen again?" Jim asked, raising a good point. "He ran off to college as soon as he could and didn't speak to your father for almost two years!"

"So, I'll give up hunting," Dean decided simply. "I'll get a job, he can go to school… he wont have to run away from me."

"Dean…" Bobby sighed, glancing at Jim again. Dean really wished they would stop doing that and just get to the point. "You're a hunter. You have been since you were too little to know any different. Do you really think you could give that up? To be a full time, single father?"

"I'll do whatever I need to do for Sam," Dean told them, turning on his heel and heading into the house to make sure Sammy was okay. He was fine, but he was also waiting for Dean in the lounge room. He was sitting on the couch, his hands folding in his lap and the most serious look a six year old could have. It would have been comical if it weren't for the fact that the situation wasn't even remotely funny. "You okay, Squirt?"

Sammy nodded his head.

"What's going on?" Sammy asked him, at last. "You guys are whispering and I heard Pastor Jim say that you were going to leave me here to live with him."

Dean sat on the couch beside Sammy and turned him so they were facing each other.

"That's not going to happen," Dean assured. "If it comes down to it, I'll get a job and we'll get our own place. You and me, kid, the whole way. Just like it's always been."

Sammy bit his lip and Dean could see he was trying to seem less scared than he really was.

"What about Daddy?" he asked at last. "Wouldn't we live with him?"

"Sammy," Dean began, uncertain how to start. This conversation was a hard one, one he had been expecting but that he hadn't figured out how to deal with. How do you prepare yourself for a conversation like this? "Do you understand what's going on?"

Sammy hesitated and finally shook his head no. He looked so fragile that all Dean wanted to do was hug him and tell him everything was going to be fine, that there was nothing to worry about and he was never going to leave him… but what he needed to tell him was the truth.

And that was always harder.

"Up until recently, Sammy, you were twenty three years old… we were both hunters, just like Dad," Dean explained gently. "Someone put some kind of a curse on you or something, and made you six years old again. Do you remember anything about it?"

Sammy shook his head again.

"Were they mad at me?" Sammy asked, his lower lip quivering.

"No, dude, not even a little bit," Dean assured him. "They did this to get back at me."

"When's Daddy getting here?" Sammy asked after a long silence.

"Well," Dean hesitated. He heard the door open behind them but he didn't take his eyes off his little brother. He knew Jim and Bobby were standing nearby, listening, and he wished that that knowledge gave him the confidence to continue… but it didn't help him at all and he found himself trying to get through the conversation with nothing but the hope of keeping himself and Sammy in tact. "Dad's not coming, Sammy… he's not around anymore."

Tears filled Sammy's eyes, but he blinked them away hard. Dean knew that he didn't want to cry in front of his big brother, and he wished that he would. His father had always taught them to be strong, and to him that meant no crying. You just pick up and move on with life… but to Sammy – even as an adult – it meant dealing with issues as they arose.

Only occasionally would you see Sam trying to hide how he felt and bury his pain below a wall of Winchester stubbornness. That was when you knew that the issue was really serious. If Sam wouldn't talk about it, there was a real problem.

"Is he mad at me?" Sammy asked. Dean wondered why kids always blamed themselves for everything that happened, but he figured he had time to ponder that later. Right now, with a question as important as this one, the slightest hesitation could be a serious mistake.

"Of course he's not mad at you," Dean told him, forcing a smile on his face. "Why would he be mad at you?"

Sammy shrugged.

"Because of mommy?" he suggested, tears welling in his impossibly large eyes suddenly. One tear fell down his cheek and he wiped it away angrily, staring at his hands in his lap again.

"Hey, that had nothing to with you," Dean told him, the conviction in his voice surprising himself as much as anyone. "Sammy, Dad's with Mom now… do you understand?"

"He died?" Sammy asked, surprise and fear rising with his voice. Dean realised that their father would seem invincible in the eyes of an innocent six year old, and he wondered when he had lost that perception. Somewhere around Sammy's age, he guessed, when John had come home injured for the first time and Dean had tried to patch him up. It had been a sloppy job, but he'd managed to get it done.

"Yeah, kiddo, he died," Dean told him.

He waited for the information to sink in, wondering what Sammy's reaction was going to be. He could see a hundred different emotions flitting across his little brother's face, some of which he couldn't even identify. When Sammy raised his head and stared into Dean's eyes, the only emotion left that he could see was anger. He had never seen such fire in Sam's eyes before, not at any age.

"Sammy…" Dean began.

Sammy leapt from the couch.

"You're lying!" he yelled, balling his fists angrily at his side. "I don't know why you are, but you are! You're lying, and you're mean and I HATE you!"

Sammy turned to run out of the room, but Dean followed him, stopping him in the doorway.

"Sammy," he began, hoping to be able to calm him down and make him feel better. He just didn't know what to say to do that, and so he said nothing. Instead he knelt before Sammy, his eyes pleading with him to understand.

Sammy was too young to understand, though. All he knew was that his Daddy wasn't coming home and that meant Dean would leave him too.

"NO!" he yelled again, his eyes flashing. "I HATE YOU! I wanna live with Pastor Jim!"

Sammy turned and ran away, slamming his door shut behind him a few seconds later. Dean got to his feet slowly, the lump in his throat having grown so painfully large that he was certain he was going to be sick. He felt like his heart had plummeted to his stomach and he knew he was shaking. Sam had never told him he hated him before, and though he knew kids sometimes said it to their parents, he had never heard Sam say it… he didn't think Sam was capable of feeling actual hate, and he had never wanted to hurt anyone before, either. No matter how angry he had gotten over the years, those words had never escaped his lips – not even to their father…

…and now they had been aimed at Dean. He wasn't sure how he was ever going to get over hearing that, it hurt more than he could ever have been prepared for.

"Wow," Bobby sighed from the doorway, the first person to break the silence. "I knew that wasn't going to go well, but… wow…"

"Yeah," Dean agreed, his voice shaking. He didn't want to let on to how much the whole thing had effected him, but he wasn't sure how well he was hiding it. At least they weren't inside his head and that meant they would most probably just put his reaction down to dealing with the whole situation in general instead of how hard it had been to talk about his father again… and how much harder it was to hear Sammy tell him he hated him. "What now?"

Dean's question was drowned out by a scream from Sam's room. The scream was cut off suddenly too. Dean was already halfway to the room, but by the time he pushed the door open the room was empty and the window stood open. He rushed to the window and saw a man running away with a Sammy sized package thrown over his shoulder.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled. He turned and rushed out of the room, grabbing his gun on his way through the kitchen and out the front door. He pushed passed Jim and Bobby ad they all tried to get outside first. "They've got him! They've got Sammy!"

Out side Dean took off after the man at a full run, but he was too far ahead. The man jumped on his motorbike and by the time Dean reached him he was about to take off. Dean grabbed him, but before he could even try to aim the gun at him, the man pressed his own handgun into Dean's shoulder and pulled the trigger without hesitating. Dean was thrown aside by the force of the bullet and he hit the ground hard. His arm felt like it had been blown off completely, but he knew it was still there and still functioning – sort of – so he pulled himself to his feet and ran after the bike as fast as he could.

He could still hear the muffled cries of his little brother as he struggled against the man who had grabbed him. He was crying and screaming and begging to be let go…

…and the last thing he heard from Sammy was his own name, both a scream and a plea at the same time.

"DEAN!"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Bobby's truck took off after the bike even as Dean's legs gave out from under him. He was relieved that Bobby had thought to jump in the truck even when he and Jim were giving chase on foot, because at least it meant they would have a chance at finding Sammy. As the truck and the bike left his view, Dean was aware of Jim reaching his side.

He looked up, tears filling his eyes.

"I've failed him," Dean said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've lost him already…"

Jim shook his head.

"No, Dean, you haven't lost him, not yet," Jim told him, pulling him to his feet by his good arm. "And you can't fail Sam, not ever."

"Sure feels like failure," Dean argued. "I gotta get the Impala… I can catch up to them, Bobby can tell me where they're headed… I have to go…"

"You have to come back to the house and let me look at that arm," Jim argued back. "You're losing blood pretty quickly there, Dean, and if you don't let me look at it you're going to be completely useless to Sammy, okay?"

Dean hesitated, wanting to argue, but that would just delay the inevitable and that meant it would be longer before he could reach his little brother. He had to let Jim patch him up so that he could leave the minute Bobby called him with Sammy's location.

He just hoped that it wouldn't be too long…

**SUPERNATURAL**

**A/N – Sorry to all those hoping for an update sooner, RL stepped in and took away some of the time I had, but here it is! The chapter you've been waiting for… hope you like it, and as usual, feel free to review!**


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, I know… the boys, the car, the whole thing is Kripke's. But I have the dvds and I reserve the right to play with my boys like puppets and put them through all sorts of dilemma's that make me feel better about the fact that I have nothing to do with the show itself! I like to call myself the PUPPETMASTER! Mwahahahahaha! Point? Not mine. Sad.

**Chapter Five**

Bobby had been following the bike for almost fifteen minutes by the time it had come to a stop at a nearby… well, he could see that it was supposed to be a bar, but it could barely be called a shack now. It was fallen and old and looked like a stray breeze would knock it to the ground. He would be embarrassed to call it his local watering hole, hell he wouldn't even walk in there to take a leak! But maybe hunters had more pride than bikers, he decided.

And for Sammy Winchester, he would go anywhere – particularly under the threat of pain and death from Sammy's older and unbelievably protective brother.

Bobby had his cell phone pressed to his ear as he waited for Dean to answer at the other end. When he finally did, he sounded like he was talking through gritted teeth.

"Bobby?" Dean responded immediately, his tone indicating that it had better be Bobby on the other end because nobody else would be welcome. "Tell me good news."

"I'm at an old bar about fifteen minutes east from Jim's," Bobby told him. "Not hard to find since it looks like a craphole, but if you drive about ten minutes east on the highway, take a left and drive another five you should see it right in front of you."

"Right," Dean told him, making a mental note of the directions. "Did you see Sammy? Is he okay?"

"The guy pulled him out of the sack once he got here, just dumped him out of it like he was a sack of potatoes. He seemed fine, maybe a couple of scrapes…" Bobby hesitated, not really wanting to fill Dean in on the rest, but knowing he had to. He wondered if he could get away with waiting until Dean arrived on the scene since the information he had would push Dean into rushing so fast it could be possible that he would never make it.

"Bobby, what is it?" Dean asked, his tone telling Bobby that not only had he not missed the hesitation in Bobby's voice, but that he would not accept anything less than the full truth… all of it. "Bobby?"

"Okay, okay," Bobby muttered. "Just remember to be careful, if you're busy being scraped off the side of the road you're gonna be no good to anyone… least of all Sammy."

"Bobby!"

"Okay," Bobby conceded at last. "Look, the guy was a bit… rough with the kid when he took him inside."

"How rough?" Dean asked, his voice dropping an octave as volume was replaced by fear.

"He dragged him inside, screaming… by the hair…" Bobby finished. "Sounds like the kids kicking up a real stink, too. He's been yellin' since they took him inside!"

"He wouldn't go quietly, that's for sure," Dean agreed. "Even at six, Sam was a fighter…"

Before Dean had even finished speaking, silence filled the air leaving behind an eerie feeling that Bobby had never felt before. He had walked through the most haunted graveyards in the state, but listening to that silence chilled him to the bone.

"You want me to bust in there?" Bobby asked.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Dean hesitated, the pain in his shoulder nothing compared to what he was feeling at the thought of his little brother – six or twenty three, it didn't matter – facing whatever those sick, psychotic bikers had in mind for him. Part of him wanted to tell Bobby to break the door down, snap any neck that dared get in his way and get to Sammy as fast as possible, but he knew that that would be condemning Bobby to death. He wouldn't make it through the front door, and there was no way of really knowing how many were in there. There were six burly bikers that had attacked him and Sam in that parking lot, along with one peroxide blonde, but who knows how many had joined the party since then?

"No," he answered, his voice deep and thick with fear and desperation. "Stay where you are and wait for us. Prepare an arsenal, we're on our way…"

Dean snapped the phone shut and turned to Jim as he pulled a few more stitches through burned skin.

"You finished?" Dean asked, trying to pull away. "It doesn't have to be pretty."

"It's not going to be," Jim told him. "These are about the worst stitches I've ever done in my life… I need five more minutes."

"You have one," Dean told him. "Who knows how long Sammy has now they've got him..."

Jim hesitated as he snipped the thread and traded the needle for some more gauze.

"What is it?" Dean asked him, narrowing his eyes. "You know something I don't?"

"Well…" Jim sighed and put the last piece of tape on the gauze before pulling away. "Bobby found something else last night. He researched the gang themselves and he found out they had a criminal history."

"For what?" Dean asked, his heart racing. He wasn't sure how much more he could take of this, and he just wished they were lay out all the information for him instead of feeding it to him in drips and drabs. He was certain he'd gained a few grey hairs since all this happened.

"I don't know, we sent out an email to one of my contacts asking him to find out more, but I haven't heard from him yet," Jim explained. The computer chose that moment to beep that there was a response on the email. Jim opened it immediately and read it quickly. "They did time for assault and burglary and… we didn't know this, though. There's an outstanding warrant for their arrest. Seems they're wanted for questioning in a murder."

"Murder?" Dean gulped. "Any details?"

"Sounds like a bar brawl gone wrong," Jim explained. "And the cops are wondering if they were involved in a car jacking of a woman who was found dead on the side of the road, and the kidnapping of her kid. The only witness said he saw a motor bike in the area, that's their only lead."

Dean was on his feet and out the front door in a split second, Jim had to run to keep up with him. They jumped in the car and immediately tore off in the direction Bobby had gone earlier. Dean didn't say anything for a while as they sped along the road at the most dangerous speed Jim had ever traveled.

"My little brother has been kidnapped by murderers," Dean muttered under his breath. "That's just great! What else am I gonna do to him? How many times am I gonna almost get him killed before someone finally manages it?"

"The police don't know for sure that it was them," Jim told him a few minutes later. "Their only lead was someone saw a motor bike… the bar brawl I can believe, but the car jacking? It's possible they had nothing to do with it."

"It doesn't matter whether they were involved. These guys are pissed at me and they're cowards, so instead of facing me they had to change Sam so they could take it out on him and then I'd be left suffering the consequences! Well, screw that for a joke… my little brother is NOT going to suffer because of me! He's not going to suffer, period!"

SSSSSSSSSSS

The trip that had taken Bobby fifteen minutes at high speed took Dean and Jim only eight minutes to make. They pulled up alongside Bobby's truck and piled out immediately. The look on Bobby's face asked the question for him.

"They're wanted for murder," Dean told him, loading the shotgun he would carry inside with him.

Bobby nodded, knowing that the rules of this war had just changed dramatically. He figured Jim's contacted must have finally dug up the information they'd been waiting for, and now there was no other choice – they were going in and Sammy was coming out.

"Got a plan?" Bobby asked, tossing a gun to Jim.

"Yup," Dean agreed. "Go in there, blast everything in sight, get Sammy back…"

"What about the mystic?" Jim asked. "We don't know how that's going to effect Sammy."

"And it's too late to be able to figure that out now!" Dean told them. "Let's move!"

Dean cocked the shotgun and stormed right up to the door of the shack, indicating that Bobby should go around the back. He kicked the door open and burst inside, driving the butt of the shotgun into the head of the first man he came across, knocking him out instantly.

"Where's my brother?" he demanded, aiming the gun straight at the face of the peroxide blonde he had see at the bar. "Talk fast."

Blondie didn't talk, she didn't utter a word, instead she just pointed a finger at a door toward the back of the bar. It was closed and somehow held an ominous quality, like it would grow teeth at any second.

Seconds later, Bobby burst into the room, taking another two bikers by surprise. That left two more in the room, and one missing. Dean turned his attention back to the woman trembling before him. He was tempted to hit her, to shoot her, to ask her what kind of woman would stand by while a little boy suffered, but instead he lowered his gun and let out a growl.

"Get out," Dean spat, stepping aside to allow her to leave. A woman, not a demon, he reminded himself. A stupid woman, but still… not a demon. He turned to the two men that now stood guard at the room Dean knew held Sammy prisoner. "How are we going to do this?"

There was no answer.

"You know there's only two of you, right?" he pointed out, his tone one of condescension that suggested they couldn't count. "There's three of us… two of you… what do you think that means?"

A smile spread over the face of the larger of the two men, and at first Dean thought it was because he was simply insane… until he felt the gun pressing against his back, that is. He sighed, looking down at his feet as if he were completely defeated, but instead he spun around, disarming the man of his weapon just like his father had taught him.

"Rookie," he laughed, driving the gun into the man's jaw. He heard a crunch and knew that he had shattered the jawbone, but his attention was already on the three other men who had joined them. They must have been hiding in the back because the room had been almost empty when they had turned to face the two men at the door. "Bobby?"

"I got em!" Bobby called, as he and Jim hurried to face the three new members of the battle while Dean headed for the door.

"You ain't gonna get passed us, pretty boy," one said.

"Really?" Dean asked, holding his shotgun by his side as if it weren't a threat. He smiled. "Do you want a chance to run again?"

"Huh?" the man asked, glancing at his friend as if to ask what Dean had meant. Before he got an answer, a shot rang out from Dean's gun, driving a bullet through the man's boot. "AARRRGH!"

The man fell to the floor, gripping his leg as he rolled around in agony. Meanwhile, Dean aimed the gun back at the remaining man.

"Where do you want it?" he asked.

"Ahhh…" the man hesitated, glancing behind Dean to see Jim and Bobby struggling with the remaining bikers. Dean wasn't worried about his friends, he knew they would gain the upper hand and meanwhile he was keeping them occupied. The man in front of him, however, seemed to realise that he had no one left to back him up, and only one way left to escape… he took the opportunity and bolted for the back door and his freedom – with all his limbs in one piece.

The door before Dean was the only thing left standing between him and the room that held his little brother – and whoever was in there with him.

It was locked.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Dean finally managed to break through the door and his body ached from the effort. Inside, it was dark and it took him a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness so he could see. He checked the room as thoroughly as he could, his gun trained in every corner, and aside from the tiny form of his little brother huddled in the furthest corner, Dean couldn't see anyone else. He hurried to Sammy's side and reached out for him. He took him by the shoulders and forced the little boy to look at him, and when he finally did Dean's heart broke.

Sammy's eyes reflected absolute terror. Dean had tried so hard to protect Sammy from anything scary when he was little, and to see that look in his eyes made him feel like he had truly failed him. There was nothing Dean could ever do to change what had happened in this room, and no matter how hard he tried he knew he'd never be able to heal all of Sammy's wounds.

"Sammy?" Dean asked through barely held back tears. "Are you okay?"

No response.

"Sammy?" Dean tried again. Sammy bit his lip and looked away, his eyes shifting to one side of Dean as if watching something over his shoulder. Dean spun around, still kneeling on the ground, only to be met by an evil grin in the darkness. Dean moved to get to his feet, reaching for his gun at the same time, but before he could do anything more he fell to the ground. He couldn't form thoughts or words, and although he could hear Sammy crying nearby he couldn't register what that sound meant.

A second later, everything went dark…

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Sammy lay quietly in the dark room, hoping that if he was quiet then the men would leave him alone. When he had first been taken, he had squirmed and screamed a lot. At first he was crying out to Dean to save him, but he soon realised Dean couldn't hear him anymore and so he spouted off some threats he had heard his father make the few times he had been close enough to a hunt to hear much of anything… it didn't sound as threatening to him as when his father had said it, but then again he didn't know what it meant to turn a man's balls into split pea soup.

After that particular threat, however, he had been dragged inside by his hair, and if he wanted to tell the truth then he would have to admit that his head still hurt from that… not to mention the gravel that had dug into his back as his shirt had shifted along the way. Gravel rash was bad enough, he'd known that from skinning his knees, but this was something else. He had to lie on his side to make it less painful, but it was hard when the skin pulled taut over the scrapes. He wanted to cry, but he knew his big brother wouldn't cry… he wanted to be brave, just like his big brother.

Worse than that, he wanted to be home with his big brother.

In spite of how hard he tried to be brave, Sammy felt tears falling down his face when he remembered yelling at Dean. He hated being so small and weak, he hated not being able to be strong like Dean and his Dad. He just wanted them to be proud of him and now…

Daddy would never be proud of him. You can't be proud when you're dead…

And Dean couldn't be proud of a cry baby…

"_You're lying! I don't know why you are, but you are! You're lying, and you're mean and I HATE you!"_

_Sammy turned to run out of the room, but Dean followed him, stopping him in the doorway._

"Sammy," Dean's voice sounded so desperate, like he was pleading with Sammy to listen to what he couldn't say but Sammy was too mad to listen. Why should he? Dean was just being mean! He was trying to hurt him, trying to upset him! Well fine! It worked! Sammy was upset, and for the first time ever he wished he was taller than Dean do he could hit him and kick him instead of just screaming at him.

"_NO!" Sammy yelled again, his eyes flashing. "I HATE YOU! I wanna live with Pastor Jim!"_

Sammy's tears stung his eyes as they mixed with the dirt from the floor. He wasn't sure where they were now, but he knew they weren't at the bar anymore. It felt more like a cellar of some kind, he guessed, not really knowing what a cellar was like but figuring if there was a dirt floor in the house then that would be where someone would keep it.

The worse his tears got, the harder he found it to keep silent. He wanted to stay quiet so that no one would hurt him, and if Dean was nearby he didn't want him to hear him crying again, but hearing himself yelling at Dean that he hated him made his chest hurt so much that he wanted to throw up. He hadn't meant it, he really hadn't! And now he'd never get to tell Dean, because Sammy was almost certain that Dean was dead… after all, people twitched when they died, right? And when Dean had hit the ground earlier, he had bee twitching and moaning a lot.

Sammy was pretty sure that he was the last remaining Winchester. His father was dead, there was no way he would be able to save him… and now Dean.

Dean…

Dean had died trying to protect me, Sammy thought.

Dean had been kneeling right in front of him, close enough to hear the slightest whisper, and yet Sammy hadn't warned him that the man had been nearby… he had been too scared that if he tried, the man would hurt Dean just like he'd promised.

And the look in Dean's eyes when he had found Sammy just made him want to cry even harder because, even after Sammy had been so mean to him earlier, he still hadn't seemed mad at him. There had been no anger in Dean's eyes, just fear and concern over Sammy. Dean had every right to be mad at Sammy, he was sure of that. He should have hated him after what Sammy had said to him, and yet he hadn't. He had loved him just like always, and Sammy hated himself for being so mean. He knew he had hurt Dean, he could see that in Dean's eyes too, but Dean had pushed that aside to take care of him and now Sammy knew he would never be able to tell Dean that he hadn't meant a word of it.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sammy whispered to the darkness, finally closing his eyes and giving into painful, grief filled sobs until his body gave into the exhaustion and he found himself drifting in the darkness.

_"Come on, Mini Me, I dare you to run… if you can get out of this room, I can personally guarantee you that no one will stop you…"_

_Sammy stared passed the man to the closed door, wondering how he could escape. He knew that he couldn't just walk out, the man wouldn't make it that easy, but if his play fights with Dean were anything to go by Sammy knew he didn't have a hope of getting away. Dean was only three years older than him, after all, and he could beat him at any fight or game with one hand tied behind his back._

_Sammy just didn't have the fighting ability that Dean had, and he had often wondered if he ever would._

"_Come on, try it!"_

_Sammy decided to try his luck at a more obvious approach at leaving. The man would expect him to fight his way out, but he wouldn't do that… not this time, this time he would just make a run for it. He aimed straight for the door, reached it and tried the handle._

_It was locked!  
_

"_Hehehehe you didn't think I'd leave it unlocked, do you? Tut tut tut, that's pretty stupid, Mini Me…"_

_The man reached him in seconds and pulled him away from the door. He raised his arm and hit Sammy across the cheek with the back of his fist, eliciting a scream of pain from the little boy._

"_You're a noisy one, kid."_

_Sammy tried to swallow the whimper that rose in his throat, but he couldn't. He wanted to cry out for Dean, but he knew that would just anger the man even more! He had to get control of himself or the man would hit him again…_

_Sammy had to hold on._

Sammy awoke with a start, hearing crying nearby. It took him a minute to realise it was him, and he immediately clamped his mouth shut. He was shivering from the cold, and he pulled his legs in close to his chest to keep warm – and in a desperate attempt to keep anymore whimpers inside, as if his knees would block their escape. He couldn't risk angering the man again. He had already been hit across the face once.

The door opened, pouring light into the room. Sammy tried to press himself further against the wall as if he could hide if only he could make himself flat enough, but it didn't work. The man walked it, a grin on his face and a leather strap in his hands.

"Don't think I didn't hear ya," he laughed cruelly. "You'll learn…"

Sammy nodded.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his eyes pleading for forgiveness. "I'll be quiet, I promise."

"I'm sure you will be," came the response. "But you gotta be punished in the meantime… how else will ya learn what's right and wrong? Anyway, it's time to up the stakes."

"Where's my brother?" Sammy asked, trying to hide the fear in his voice. He was fairly impressed at the steadiness in his voice, he just wished he felt as calm as he sounded.

"Your brother, and the other morons who tried to get to you, are dead," the man told him, stepping into the room and dragging Sammy away from the wall. "Idiots got themselves torched alive."

"Alive?" Sammy asked. "Like with fire?"

"Yup, like with fire… oh, I knocked 'em all out first, don't worry about that… you don't think I'm some kind of monster, do you?"

Sammy immediately shook his head in answer, not wanting to hesitate and anger him further. He wasn't sure what 'upping the stakes' meant, but he wasn't sure he cared anymore either.

He felt numb.

There was a hesitation and finally the man sighed.

Sammy wanted to asked what was going to happen, but he was nervous. Something told him to wait and see what was on the agenda before he panicked. He had to have his wits about him, in case there was some sort of hole in the man's plan that Sammy could take advantage of.

He was numb, but he wasn't stupid.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Dean had woken several hours later and found himself pacing restlessly once again, growing frustrated by the jitters that remained in some of his muscles and the confusion that made his mind foggy. He knew he had to get to his brother, and he knew his friends were in trouble too, but he couldn't force his thoughts passed that. He couldn't seem to process far enough to get a plan formulating, and that was annoying the absolute hell out of him.

When he heard the door-knob rattle, however, he found himself pressing against the wall alongside it as instinct guided him. He saw a shadow of a man walk inside with a gun trained to the back wall and the instant the light flooded the room, Dean launched himself into action, grabbing the man's throat with one hand and driving him into the wall. He gripped the man's hand hard, bashing it against the door frame until he relinquished his hold on the gun and finally he drove his knee into the man's stomach until he doubled over and gasped for air. Dean grabbed the man's head and drove it into his knee, knocking him out completely.

Dean dropped the motionless body to the ground, scooped up the gun and fished the keys out of the man's pocket before stepping silently into the hall and closing the door. He locked it quickly behind him and moved to the room across from his. He quickly opened the door, glancing around him to make sure the coast was clear, and before he entered the room he turned the lights on so he would instantly know who was inside. Bobby grabbed him and spun him around before Dean managed to pull away and sweep Bobby's legs out from under him. He guided the man's fall, careful that he didn't hit his head as he landed.

"Take it easy, Bobby," Dean breathed, his voice low. "It's me!"

"Dean?" Bobby gasped, allowing his friend to pull him to his feet. "You okay?"

"A bit… fried, but okay," Dean assured him. "Come on, Jim's gotta be next door!"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Dean, Bobby and Jim, now armed with guns and tasers, made their way down the hall in the direction Jim had said he'd heard crying earlier. He was the only one that hadn't been knocked unconscious, and so he had listened to everything around him. Dean was grateful he had, or else they'd have to search every where until they found out where Sammy was, and there was no telling how long that would take.

When they saw a room at the end of the hall that had a man standing guard, Dean knew that was where Sammy must be. He rushed the man and drove the taser into his side before he even had a chance to react, and the minute he hit the ground Dean unlocked the door and pushed it open. Bobby dragged the twitching man inside and the three of them piled through the doorway. Jim hit the light switch and the room illuminated to reveal the clothed body of one Sam Winchester.

A twenty three year old Sam Winchester…

"The kid served a purpose… made him easy to get him here, but it was this Sam that I wanted," a man said from the corner of the room. Dean finally got a good look at him and recognised him as The Boar. "He refused to scream, but I just got creative… he didn't seem to care in the end what I did to him…"

Dean looked back at his brother. He couldn't tell if he was alive or not. If he was breathing, it was so shallow that Dean couldn't make out the movement on his chest. Sam's back was covered in welts and gravel, dirt embedded in every wound, blood smeared with dirt.

"He had some fight in him… got a black eye for my trouble, see?"

Dean looked at The Boar, wondering when his legs were going to start working again.

"Not going to be causing anyone anymore trouble, though," The Boar continued. "I guess I got what I wanted after all, huh?"

"What did you want?" Dean asked, his voice barely more than a predatory growl.

"Payback, princess… you were so prepared to do anything I wanted the other night when my buddy had your brother, so I figured losing out on a pool game would cost me three hundred, but watching you lose your brother would be priceless…"

The Boar beamed as if he were the most brilliant man in the world, but what he didn't realise was that he had just poured the last salt into Dean's wounds that he needed to give him the energy to avenge his brother.

"You should have seen the look on the little kids face when I told him you lot had burned alive... would have loved a photo of that!" The Boar continued, grinning cruelly. "He died with your name on his lips, by the way… Dean… the last thing he ever said – though it was barely above a whisper. Better than a death rattle!"

**SUPERNATURAL**

**A/N – Second chapter of the day! Yay me! I guess I got pretty good at typing lightening speed huh? Rough chapter, but I hope you guys like the action and the angst in there. There's more to come, so hold on tight!**


	6. Chapter 6

Dedicated: SunnyJuneDays: for recovering like a brave soldier from knee surgery and fighting through being so tired to go to work, and still giving her kids a great Christmas! I hope you enjoy the chapter, I was gonna go to bed til I heard from you, and I just had to get this chapter out to make you smile again.

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, I know… the boys, the car, the whole thing is Kripke's. But I have the dvds and I reserve the right to play with my boys like puppets and put them through all sorts of dilemma's that make me feel better about the fact that I have nothing to do with the show itself! I like to call myself the PUPPETMASTER! Mwahahahahaha! Point? Not mine. Sad.

**Chapter Six**

Sam awoke with a start when he felt someone's hand at his throat. He grabbed at the wrist with his hand, gripping as hard as he could though he didn't have his normal strength. He felt his heart pounding in his throat as fear made him pull away from his would-be assailant until he lost his balance and hit the ground, sending shooting pains through his back. A familiar face appeared before him and, although he could see clearly it still took him a minute to recognise who it was.

"Pastor Jim?" he gasped through the pain. "You're alive?"

"It's okay, Sam," Jim told him, reaching for him and pulling him to sit up, taking as much of his weight onto himself so it wasn't putting pressure of Sam's back. At first Sam accepted the help, leaning appreciatively against his old friend, but his mind was racing a hundred miles a minute. He looked at Jim, fear in his eyes when suddenly all sounds in the room hit him. Hard. It was like he had been walking around in a cone of silence, only to have the cone lifted suddenly with a brass band three feet from him…

…only the sounds were of fists flying and people yelling and growling as they fought. Sam's eyes searched the room quickly and finally settled on his brother. Relief filled his eyes for a split second before he managed to get to his feet. He knew Pastor Jim was only thinking of him when he tried to hold Sam back, but relief at seeing Dean alive and fear of him getting hurt anyway gave Sam the strength he needed to push Jim aside. He could feel his legs shaking beneath him as he weakly hurried to help his brother.

Time felt like it was moving painfully slowly to Sam, and yet he knew that Jim and Bobby were both rushing toward him to try and keep him out of the fight. Sam was close enough to Dean, now, that he could reach out and touch his shoulder.

Dean's eyes widened when he saw Sam standing before him and The Boar took advantage of the split second to push Dean aside and turn the gun on Sam. Sam stumbled back a moment, raising his hands as if he could ward off the bullet, but the minute it tore into his aching flesh reality sank in and he hit the ground.

He saw Dean pull his own weapon as agony overtook Sam's vision and as he lay on the ground, staring up at the ceiling, he heard the unmistakable sound of gun fire.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Dean was kneeling by his brother's side before the dead body of The Boar hit the ground. He pulled Sam toward him, resting his head on his knees to make him more comfortable, and cupped his chin in his hand. He could see the agony in his little brother's eyes and it destroyed him to think that he had come so close to rescuing him just to have him ripped away from him anyway.

"Sammy?" Dean called, gently tapping Sam's cheek to try and keep him conscious. "Sam! Can you hear me? Sammy!"

Dean glanced over his shoulder to Bobby.

"Get the clothes off the twitcher," he ordered, a plea in his tone that Dean hadn't even been prepared for. "Jeans and jacket at least, gotta keep him warm."

"Damn!" Sam growled through gritted teeth. His eyes were squeezed shut and Dean knew Sam was going into shock because he could feel him shivering even after Bobby hurriedly pulled the jeans over his legs and wrapped the jacket around his shoulders as best he could. They were too baggy on him, but they were good enough to warm him even as the blood flowed out of the wound. The movement from being redressed elicited another pained cry from Sam's lips.

"Easy, Sammy," Dean told him, holding him still as Jim tried to get a closer look at his wound.

"Looks like a through and through," he announced as he worked, trying to be as gentle as he could be Sam. "No major organs hit, but he's losing a lot of blood. I can't treat him here, we have to move him back to my place."

"Help me get him out to the car," Dean said. "I'll race him there and get him inside. You guys follow along behind."

"No, you'll need someone to keep pressure on the wound," Jim disagreed, taking hold of Sam on one side. "I'll drive, you sit with Sam."

Dean moved to Sam's other side, pulling Sam's arm around his shoulder as he slid his around his brother's waist as carefully as he could.

"Ready, Sammy? We gotta get you out of here," Dean told him. "Up on three, ready?"

Sam grunted but nodded through the pain. He seemed to have braced himself, so Dean counted as quickly as he could before Sam lost control and gave in to the pain. As much as he wished Sam didn't have to be awake as they moved him, it would make the process a lot easier and quicker.

Sam cried out as they all got to their feet. Bobby slid in place of Jim, since he was bigger than the Pastor and therefore would be better able to take Sam's weight. As the three of them moved slowly as fast as they could, Jim raced ahead with the keys that Dean tossed to him. He unlocked the Impala and held one of the back doors open until Bobby had helped Dean get him inside. By the time Jim made it to the drivers side and had the Impala running, Sam was breathing so hard it sounded more like he was grunting than breathing.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, barely managing to get the words out.

"For what?" Dean asked, his voice strangled through tears of his own. "You haven't done anything wrong, Sam, you have nothing to be sorry for."

"For… what… I said," Sam groaned as they hit a bump in the road and Jim turned into a particularly sharp corner. "Before they… got me…"

Dean was confused. He hadn't expected Sam to remember anything about the passed few days, he had figured that since little Sammy hadn't remembered anything, then maybe Sam wouldn't either. No such luck, obviously, since Sam seemed to be wracked with more than the pain of being shot but with guilt as well.

"Don't worry about it, Sam," Dean told him, his tone dismissive.

"I didn't… mean… any of it…" Sam insisted, refusing to let the matter drop. "I don't… I… I… don't…"

"What?" Dean asked, seeing Sam's eyes fluttering closed as he began losing the battle for consciousness. "Sammy? Talk to me, man. You don't what?"

Dean tried to shake Sam awake, but he was holding both hands hard against the wound to try a stop the bleeding. He could feel blood from the exit wound seeping through the leg of his jeans, and he knew that he wasn't doing much to help him. He just hoped they would get back to Jim's soon and that Jim could work his magic well enough to save Sam's life – and save them another trip to the hospital. A six year old with a fever was one thing, but a man with a gun shot wound? No way that was going to go unnoticed.

"Sam!" Dean yelled, trying one last time to get his attention. Sam was on the verge of passing out, but he still had a glimmer of consciousness in his eyes as he opened them and tried to focus on his older brother. "You don't what?"

Sam's eyes closed again and Dean felt the strength and fight beginning to seep out of his body.

"I don't… hate you," Sam finished, his voice barely louder than a whisper. New tears filled Dean's eyes, not just at the concern he felt about Sam's condition, but at his words. He had known hearing Sam tell him he hated him had hurt, but he had had no idea how much until right now.

He just hoped that Sam's last words to him wouldn't be an apology for something Dean never needed him to apologise for…

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

It took Jim several hours to patch Sam up, and even then he wasn't convinced that he had done the right thing. He understood that a trip to the hospital could have terrible consequences for a Winchester at the best of times, but a Winchester with a bullet wound was even worse… but that didn't mean he was a hundred percent confident in his abilities to fix every wound. He wasn't a doctor, after all, and he wasn't convinced that there hadn't been more damage done here than he had been able to deal with. He figured he would see either an improvement or a decrease in Sam's condition in an hour or two and they would still have time to get him to a hospital if he needed further attention.

Meanwhile, he was sifting through the clothes in Sam's duffel bag that Dean had brought inside to keep himself busy while Jim worked on his bother, and pulled out some pants that wouldn't irritated the wound as much as jeans would, and a plain, baggy t-shirt that would allow Sam to move without rubbing or catching on any of the dressings.

Dean was waiting by his brother's side when Jim returned with the clothes and put them on a nearby chair. Truth be told, Dean hadn't left Sam alone for more than a minute at a time, even as Jim had worked on him. He would always find a reason to come back, and when he didn't have one the look in his eye had told Jim not to bother asking.

"How is he?" Dean asked him without looking up from his brother's sleeping form.

"Near as I can tell, he's fine," Jim assured him. "I checked his blood pressure after I finished patching him up, and although it was a bit low from the loss of blood, it doesn't seem to be dropping any."

"What does that mean?" Dean asked, glancing up.

"That he's not bleeding internally, which is the main thing I was worried about," Jim answered carefully. "I had to patch up some wounds on his back – he had a lot of dirt and gravel embedded in there. He's going to be pretty sore for a while but that should heal over okay. There were a few larger welts that actually needed stitches."

"Bastard," Dean muttered, balling his fist against his knee. "What else?"

"He has a couple of burns from something, I'm not sure what, but I patched them up too. They were on his chest…"

"Yeah, I noticed them earlier," Dean admitted. "I don't even wanna think about what the bastard did to cause those."

"He had some smaller, more minor burns on his arm, but again I don't know what caused them. There were a lot of injuries that I just couldn't account for," Jim admitted. "Sam's going to have to fill in a lot of the blanks."

Dean nodded, a grim expression on his face.

"That bastard tortured my little brother," Dean said, his voice hot with anger and something else that Jim just couldn't place. "A bullet was too good for him, I should have ripped him apart with my bare hands."

"You don't have that in you, Dean," Jim argued, but the look Dean gave him gave him pause.

"Don't I?" Dean asked. "If Sam hadn't come up to me when he did, I think I would have… and the only reason I didn't in the end was because Sam had a bullet in him. I had better things to do than waste my time – and Sam's – on a piece of trash like that."

Jim nodded. He couldn't argue with him, and knew there was no point because he wasn't sure that what Dean was saying was wrong. Jim sometimes worried about Dean because he had no limit, no boundary, nothing in the world would get in the way of his protecting his family. There was nothing he wouldn't do to keep Sam safe, and what worried Jim was that, if ever Dean stood still for too long, that could catch up with him. After he left this place, Dean could be wanted for murder, and there might be no way he could ever return without being led off in chains…

…and then where would Dean hide when things got rough? He wouldn't have good ole Pastor Jim's for a safe haven anymore, and without that to fall back on, there was no telling how long the path to freedom would be – or how long before his freedom was taken away from him.

And if he ever did return to find he was a wanted man, Pastor Jim knew there'd be nothing more he could do to protect him. There was only so much he could do, only so far he could reach, and he always knew that one day a Winchester would find the end of Jim's limit…

…he just hoped it hadn't happened yet.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

A few minutes after Jim had left Dean alone with Sam, Sam began moaning in his sleep. Dean was worried about his fever, wondering if it had come back since he'd been trapped in a cellar for eighteen hours. By the time Dean had found him, Sam had been his usual self again but had no clothes to fit him and he wasn't sure how long he had been left like that. Given the extent of his injuries and the unreliable word of The Boar that he hadn't began with the 'creative' ways to hurt Sam when he was young, Dean figured it had been at least half that time that Sam was left without clothes to keep him warm.

And that could have translated into pneumonia according to the doctor. He was sure that Jim would have told him if Sam had been running a temperature, but he wanted to check for himself anyway. He found the thermometer on the table and held it gently in Sam's ear until it beeped. It was still up a little, but only just and Dean figured as long as it stayed that way they wouldn't have to risk another trip to the hospital. He would never be able to explain what was going on, and that would raise way too many suspicions.

If Sam needed it, however, Dean would do it. Whatever Sam needed…

"Dean?" Sam muttered. Dean glanced down at him to see Sam's eyes were open and he seemed to be looking for him.

"Yeah, little brother, I'm right here," Dean told him, stepping back into Sam's eye line. "How do you feel?"

"Like a truck hit me," Sam admitted, coughing slightly. "Twice…"

"Ouch," Dean replied, trying to keep his tone light. "That can't be fun… do you need something for the pain? I could get Pastor Jim back here."

Sam shook his head, though pain was clearly etched all over his features. Dean frowned, not wanting Sam to be in pain but not sure he should push him into taking anything for it given what he'd already been through. He wasn't sure how to treat him anymore, and he found himself trying to force things to be the way they were before. He wasn't even sure how to do that, as his concern over Sam was clouding everything he thought he knew, and now he thought about it he wasn't so sure he was doing a very good job of mimicking their passed relationship.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Dean asked, his tone gentle.

Sam nodded but averted his eyes.

"I remember the guy taking me, dragging me into the building and tossing me into that room… at first I was in there alone and I kept yelling for them to let me go, calling for you I guess, and that pissed them off," Sam explained. "They only hit me once, during the 'try and escape' game he seemed to like so much."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, confused.

"He would stand between me and the door and dare me to try and get out. He said if I could get out the door, he would let me go and no one would stop me," Sam explained, trying to sit up. The pain was obviously too much for him and he fell back against his pillow paler than ever before. Dean was immediately by his side, resting one hand on his forehead as if to comfort him. He could feel Sam trembling slightly beneath his hand, but it soon settled down. Dean put it down to the effort of having tried to move and the effort of going over his story… neither could have been easy.

"What happened then?" Dean prompted.

"He hit me," Sam answered, his voice getting weak again. "But then he just sort of sat there waiting until you came. He told me he would kill you if I said anything to warn you… and when you went down, I thought he'd killed you anyway."

"Damn taser," Dean muttered, rubbing the side where he'd been hit. "I hate those things."

Sam forced a smile but it was short-lived as another thought occurred to him. He brushed it aside and seemed to skip passed it and onto something else, but Dean had to wonder what that thought was. He knew that Sam had wounds that Jim could treat, but he was sure that a six year old couldn't go through what Sam had gone through without some other scars that you just couldn't see…

"I didn't see anyone again until later when he came in and, I'm not sure how it happened or what he did, but I changed back," Sam explained. He reached up to rub his tired eyes with a heavily bandaged arm and when he realised he couldn't bend it properly through the dressing, he put it down again and used the other arm instead. "That's when he started laying into me. I was already tired and kind of…"

"Kind of what?" Dean pressed. Man, he was really tired of having to have conversations like these with his little brother – they were always painful, for both of them, but they had to happen.

"Weak, I guess," Sam muttered, annoyed at having to admit it. "At first he just hit me, and when I was down he kicked me… and then, I guess when he was sure I wouldn't be able to fight back, he used other things… a belt, leather strap… I think I was unconscious for some of it because I don't remember what happened, I just remember the pain."

Dean nodded. His stomach churned as he realised he wasn't sure he wanted to hear anymore, but he knew he had to listen. Sam was doing surprisingly well at dealing with it and talking about it, but Dean was still sure there was something he was holding back. He would need to find out what that was eventually…

"You have some burns on your chest and arms," Dean told him. "Do you remember how you got them?"

"He put matches out on my arm a couple of times," Sam admitted, his eyes drooping. "On my chest, I don't know, I don't remember."

Sam's last words were barely more than a mumble, but Dean was sure it was another apology for saying he hated Dean. He would have to beat that out of him later, Dean thought… and then a moment later he realised he could have kicked himself just for having that thought! As if Sam hadn't had enough of that already…

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Sam awoke the next morning aching all over, but the pain in his stomach alerted him to a much more urgent problem. He needed to use the facilities… any facilities… even a bush would do at this point, as long as it was reeeeally close!

He tried to sit up, but everything in his body screamed at him to stop. His back was protesting the slightest movement, the pain in his side throbbed whenever he tried to shift, and his head was starting to ache. He wasn't sure where anyone was since he looked around and found the room was empty. Dean was nowhere to be found, and that thought worried Sam more than he had been prepared for.

"Dean?" he croaked painfully. "Dean!"

He couldn't raise his voice above a dry, hoarse whimper, so all Sam could do now was to fend for himself. Remembering back to the time he had cracked six ribs and could only move one way, he tried to force himself into a slow role so he could get the momentum up to get off the bed…

…it didn't go so well. He crashed into the table that had all of Pastor Jim's medical supplies on it and hit the ground hard. The wind was knocked out of him, and he lay there for a moment trying to catch his breath.

Still nobody came to help him.

"Dean?" Sam called, trying to get his voice to a higher volume, but instead all he was able to do was croak more painfully than before. He edged himself over to the chair nearby and gripped it tight, pulling himself to his feet as gingerly as he could. All his muscles begged with him to stop, but his bladder was sending him urgent and painful shock waves to suggest he had better find a way to move faster.

He was finally on his feet, and though he still felt shaky he was at least upright and aiming in the general direction of the bathroom. He felt his way along the wall of the room until he reached the door. He fumbled for the handle and finally managed to pull it open, but he suddenly found himself with the aid of the wall to hold him up and that left him feeling dizzy and weak.

He wrapped his arm around his stomach protectively as he closed his eyes and tried to regain control. He opened them at last and took a tentative step into the hallway…

Complete darkness met him and the ground fell away from him. He felt himself crumble like a house of cards, and he began to wonder if he would ever stop falling. He remembered that story that Dean had read to him when he was… well, six actually, about the girl who fell down the rabbit hole. Her name eluded Sam for a moment, but suddenly, with the sharp thud that met him at the bottom of the abyss her name was knocked out of him with painful force.

"Alice!"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"Did you hear something?" Dean asked, leaning forward on his seat from the kitchen where they were all pouring over books researching the mystic and making sure they knew what they had to do.

"Sounded like 'Alice'," Jim offered, looking just as confused as Dean.

"Whose Alice?" Dean asked, wondering if Sam had woken up or started calling out in his sleep.

"Ummm…" Bobby sounded like there was a chuckle on his lips as he spoke. "I'd be guessing that would be you, Alice."

Dean glared at him, heading for the door. Typical of Bobby to make a joke, he thought. But Dean was almost certain he had heard more than just Sam's voice, and when he reached the hallway outside the room Sam was resting in, he knew he had been right.

Sam was lying in the hallways, face down with his arms caught underneath him, his head at an awkward angle.

"Sam!" Dean called, rushing to his side and slowly rolling him over. Sam let out a pained grunt at the movement, but his eyes remained shut and Dean knew he had lost consciousness again. As he reached out to shake Sam gently, his hands felt something sticky on his shirt, and when he pulled them bacck to have a look at them he realised it was blood.

Sam's blood on his hands…

Sam was bleeding…

"Jim!" Dean called, urgency and panic deep in his voice. "JIM!"

Jim was in the hall in a flash, ready for whatever emergency might present itself. Dean was looking up at him from where he knelt beside his little brother and the look in his eyes would rival that of a three year old crying over lost candy. His lower lip almost quivered as he was stretched to his last nerve, and his eyes were filled with tears once again… Jim didn't think he had seen Dean shed so many tears in the duration of his life, and he was certain that there were more circumstances that had led up to it than he had even realised… and exhaustion was almost certainly a contributing factor as Dean hadn't slept since Sam had been hurt in that parking lot.

Jim was in and out of Sam's recovery room in seconds, collecting his stitching set and a fresh dressing, and he quickly set out repairing the damage to Sam's bullet wound. He pulled Sam's t-shirt up to get at the wound quickly and checked the other injuries he could see to make sure there weren't any repairs necessary there either.

Sam began to murmur in his unconscious state, his voice sounding more and more panicked by the syllable.

"It's okay, Sam," Dean assured him.

The minute Jim touched the wound, however, Sam's eyes opened wide and his mouth dropped open in a silent cry of pain. He gasped for breath and finally reached out to pull Jim's hand away from the wound.

"Don't," he pleaded, covering the bleeding wound with his own hand.

"Sam, Jim has to fix it up or you're going to lose too much blood," Dean told him gently. "That's why you're so tired, you've lost blood, remember? We need to get you fixed up."

"No," Sam said insistently, pushing Jim away quickly when Jim reached for him again.

Dean sighed.

"What if I do it?" Dean asked, wondering if that would make it better somehow. He couldn't see how it would, but he offered just the same.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Sam nodded through the pain in his head, since al he remembered in his barely conscious state was the face of a man with his hand at Sam's throat and suddenly he couldn't breathe. He fought for air and pleaded with Dean to help him, but he couldn't move, all he could do was choke painfully through whatever was crushing his windpipe and hope that Dean figured it out soon…

…and obviously he did because the face was gone and all Sam could see was his brother leaning over him trying to repair the stitches as best he could. Sam closed his eyes against the pain, but they flew open and instant later when a memory flashed through his head and set his heart racing.

"Fire!" Sam cried, reaching out and grabbing Dean's wrist to make sure it was really him.

"Sam, let go," Dean told him, trying to pry his brother's fingers from around his wrist. "You're going to pull the stitch out I just put it, dude, and believe me that's gonna hurt!"

Sam frowned at him and pouted, suddenly looking six years old again.

"Fire," he pouted. "You died…"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Dean sighed when he realised what Sam was talking about. The bastard had told him – when he was a six year old child, no less – that Dean had been killed in a fire. No wonder Sam was freaking out as his barely conscious mind processed the lie the way it would have if Sam were still only six. Dean couldn't imagine how that must have felt, especially having just been told that your father was dead and then… a kidnapped, traumatised child being told that the only person you had left in the world, your only hope of escape and safety, had died in the most horrific manner possible…

…especially to a Winchester!

"Sam, no," Dean told him as gently as he could while maintaining the right level of insistence in his voice. "I didn't die, I'm right here and I'm not dying any time soon, I promise."

Sam hesitated, as if uncertain whether he should believe him or not, and finally let go of Dean's hand. He remained silent – except for the occasional wince in pain that elicited an apology from Dean every time – until the stitching job had been finished, and the he met Dean's gaze again.

"I have to, um… you know…" Sam muttered, blushing slightly.

"You have to what?" Dean asked, too tired to be able to fight through the haze of confusion to fill in the blanks himself. Sam was going to have to help him out on this one.

"The bathroom," Sam finished, frustrated. "I have to go to the bathroom."

"Oh, right," Dean laughed gently, getting to his feet and carefully helping Sam up again. He kept his hand on Sam's arm to steady him as he led him the rest of the way to the bathroom and waited while Sam made his way inside. After he heard the flush and the running water, Dean was ready to help Sam back to the recovery room again, only this time he wasn't going to leave him alone again.

Not for a while, anyway. He wasn't sure he could leave Sam alone until the mystic was dealt with. He was too afraid that Sam would suddenly turn six again and Dean just wasn't sure he'd be able to handle that again…

…he could barely handle grown up Sam now as it was!

"Dean?" Sam murmured as sleep slowly began to take its hold on him again. "Were you really going to leave me with Pastor Jim?"

Dean sighed and closed his eyes. Sam really had retained everything that had happened when he was young, and he was going to slowly depose every second of it until he had it all straight in his head.

"No, little brother, I was never going to leave you with Pastor Jim," Dean assured him. He knew that Sam needed to hear more to be convinced, but he was so tired he didn't want to get into it – at least, not until he saw the look on Sam's face that suggested he wasn't sure he believed that or not. "Seriously, I was going to quit hunting and get a job. You'd go to school, all the good stuff you worked for was going to happen again, and this time you were never going to have to hunt again."

Sam hesitated.

"Do you wish I'd stayed young?" he asked at last, his voice catching slightly. Dean wasn't sure what had gone through his mind this time, and the question was in his eyes so evidently that Sam had to continue his train of thought. "I just wondered, with Dad, and Jessica and everything else that's happened…"

"I have to admit, I wish that I could undo all of those things and that you could have grown old and had squillions of grandkids, but I never got quite that selfless to be honest," Dean explained, settling back in his chair. "I just wanted my geek boy little brother back."

Sam smiled and finally let his eyes close…

…and a moment later, Dean's eyes did the same thing.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Jim opened the door gently to peak inside so he could check up on the boys without disturbing them, and when he saw them both sleeping peacefully for the first time in almost a week, he crept back out of the room while holding his breath, determined not to wake them.

He tiptoed back into the kitchen where Bobby waited for him. Bobby looked up as Jim walked intot he room, curiosity in his eyes.

"How are they?" he asked.

"Sleeping," Jim answered, smiling as he sat down across from Bobby, reaching for another book.

"Good, coz I would have hated to use that mallet thing I saw in you medical supplies," Bobby admitted. "You ever actually have to use that? Like if you'd run out of anaesthetic or something?"

"That's not a mallet, it's to test reflexes," Jim told him. He sighed when he saw the twinkle in Bobby's eye that told him he was kidding… gee, Jim thought, maybe I'm tired too!

"Did you ever consider having kids?" Bobby asked.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you know, if you were a different collar…"

Jim chuckled.

"You know, I never had to think about it," he admitted sincerely. "Having those boys around, I always felt like I had kids…"

**SUPERNATURAL**

**A/N – Chalk one up for me! Three chapters out today! Merry Christmas all! LoL**

**Not long to go now, folks.**


	7. Chapter 7

Dedication and HUGE thanks to: TraSan! For the preread and the shove in the right direction, and for pointing out the HUGE boo boo!

A/N – All mistakes still remaining are my own.

A/N – Merry Christmas to everyone! I hope you all had a wonderful, safe Christmas!!!

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, I know… the boys, the car, the whole thing is Kripke's. But I have the dvds and I reserve the right to play with my boys like puppets and put them through all sorts of dilemma's that make me feel better about the fact that I have nothing to do with the show itself! I like to call myself the PUPPETMASTER! Mwahahahahaha! Point? Not mine. Sad.

**Chapter Seven**

"Dean?" Sam croaked, his throat still dry and sore. His body still ached, but he his head was clearer and he wasn't quite so tired. He turned his head, growing nervous that Dean hadn't responded to him right away. Sam didn't want to be alone again, he'd been alone for so long with no one to protect him and look out for him, and he didn't want that experience again. He knew that Dean would have been trying to get to him, but in the meantime… he didn't even want to remember how terrified he was, a little boy afraid in the dark with a stranger making all kinds of threats to his safety, and to his brother's life. And then, to be convinced that Dean had been killed trying to reach him…

…well, Sam was definitely not a fan of the idea that he was still alone, even if the surroundings were a little more familiar. He knew he was at Pastor Jim's now, he remembered that from when he had woken up earlier, but Dean hadn't been with him when he'd woken up then either and he'd needed him. He wondered why Dean had left him, it was unusual after such a traumatic experience for them to be apart.

When Sam caught sight of Dean in the chair not even a foot from the bed, his body twisted at an awkward angle as he snored lightly, he felt his heart slow in his chest and his breathing return to normal. He could relax a little now, knowing that Dean wasn't far away. Just having him in the room made the terrors of the previous… was it the previous day, Sam wondered. He had no idea how much time had passed, how long he'd been in the cellar – being six years old made it difficult to keep track of time.

"Dean?" Sam tried again. His voice was still sore and barely audible. Giving up on trying to make himself heard, Sam reached out a hand that was shaking unexpectedly, and touched Dean's arm just above the wrist.

Dean jumped awake immediately, his eyes wide open and on Sam instantly, concern shining in them brightly.

"Are you okay?" he asked, leaning forward in his seat. "Do you need something for the pain?"

Sam shook his head and tried to speak, but his voice had finally given up on co-operating with him. He turned pleading eyes on Dean and pointed at his mouth, hoping he would understand he needed water to soothe his dry throat. Dean nodded and reached behind him where a glass and jug were waiting on a table, obviously ready for when Sam was awake enough to try and drink something. Dean poured a glass of water and, after helping Sam to sit up properly, handed him the glass. Sam drank thirstily, careful not to lose any of the precious liquid, and when he had had enough he handed the glass back to Dean.

"Better?" Dean asked, putting the glass back and focussing his attention back on Sam.

"Yeah, thanks," Sam told him, his throat still a little sore but not as dry as it had been so he could actually speak again. "Are you okay?"

"Me?" Dean asked, blinking his eyes in confusion.

Sam pointed at Dean's neck.

"You were sleeping funny," he explained, dropping his hand onto the bed again. "Sore neck?"

Dean shook his head, sighing.

"No, my necks fine," he assured his brother. He seemed to hesitate a moment, finally getting to his feet. "I should get Pastor Jim…"

"I'll be okay," Sam told him, knowing that Dean was worried about leaving Sam alone again. Sam didn't like the idea, either, but as long as he knew where Dean was Sam was determined to regain control of his life and his fears. He didn't want to wind up weak and afraid, relying on his big brother for everything. No way, Sam thought. He was a hunter, dammit, and he was going to have to walk through dark cemeteries and deal with scary ass demons on a weekly basis, he had to get back to normal now.

No way was a pack of bikers going to ruin that!

"You sure?" Dean asked, clearly still uncertain.

"Yes," Sam snapped, his tone a lot harsher than he had intended. He saw Dean hesitate. Dean knew that Sam wasn't okay, at least not completely, and Sam could see that was making it harder for him to walk out that door even if it was only for a minute or two. "I'm fine, I promise."

"Sam…"

"I don't need my big brother holding my hand when I cross the street anymore," Sam muttered, closing his eyes and turning his head away from the door, wishing that Dean would just treat him like normal instead of like something was wrong. He understood why Dean was reluctant to leave after everything that had happened, but Sam was certain that the only way he was ever going to be able to hunt again was if he pushed aside everything that had happened and get on with it.

And he had to hunt again, or Dean might get hurt. Their father was gone, after all, and without Sam there would be no one left to watch Dean's back. He was hyper aware of how close he had come to leaving Dean alone for the rest of his life, and he knew that life would have possibly been shorter if there was no one to watch out for Dean.

Dean spent so much time looking out for Sam, but it did go both ways even if Dean didn't realise it.

Sam heard the door open and close gently…

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Dean really didn't want to leave the room. He knew that he'd only be gone for a minute, but Sam just seemed… withdrawn. When Sam had snapped at him, as much as Dean had wanted to help him he got the distinct impression that right at that moment his help wasn't welcome. Whatever was going through his little brother's head at the moment, now wasn't the time to figure it out. That time would come when Sam was ready – and if not, Dean would have to work his magic and get it out of him because otherwise Sam would walk into the next hunt angry and distracted. That kind of issue bottled up inside would eventually get one or both of them in trouble… or whoever it was they were trying to help.

So finally, after another look at his brother lying weak and pale against the pillows that seemed to have more colour in them than Sam, Dean opened the door and left the room, closing it quietly behind him. His heart was in his throat and pounding harder and harder with every step he took away from that room, but he forced himself to keep going. He knew that Sam didn't want him there right now, and he needed Pastor Jim to check him over. Dean would always do what Sam needed him to do, no matter how hard it was.

He just wished he understood why Sam didn't want him there. He had seemed to need him when he'd woken up, and then he suddenly didn't…

Jim was in the kitchen cooking breakfast when Dean found him, and Dean had to wonder if he'd slept because he seemed to be on edge and hyper alert. The minute Dean reached the doorway, Jim was headed his way.

"Everything okay?" he asked. "You slept at last."

"Yeah, not the best idea I've had though," Dean admitted, forcing a smile across his face in spite of how he was really feeling. "Sam's awake."

"How's he doing?"

"Um," Dean hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder to the closed door. "I don't know. Quiet, not very… I don't know… anyway, he's had some water."

"Well, that's a good start," Jim assured him. He tossed the kitchen towel onto a nearby bench and glanced back at breakfast, making sure it would be simmering happily for a little while. "Let's go have a look at that brother of yours."

Dean followed Jim back to the room, reluctant to go back inside. He wasn't sure if he should, if Sam would want to be there or not. Sam had said he didn't want his brother holding his hand, after all… he hovered at the door as Jim let himself in, and hung back in the doorway while Jim approached the bed. He heard Sam stir, but he didn't speak.

"How are you feeling, Sam?" Jim asked him, checking his stomach wound – clearly the worst of all the injuries he had sustained.

Sam didn't answer him.

"Did you get some sleep?" Jim tried again. When Sam still didn't offer a response, Jim decided to do his blood pressure – the best indicator of Sam's progress, especially if he wouldn't speak. "Dean tells me he slept at a bit of an awkward angle last night."

"Where is he?" Sam asked, his voice low with a light tremble to it that Dean hadn't expected to hear.

"He's around," Jim assured him. Dean waited, interested to see what Sam would say. He didn't just want to walk in, he wanted to make sure it was the right thing to do – and he had never been so uncertain as to what the right thing was for Sam. He had always known, always been able to read his little brother even to the point where their father often deferred to Dean for an explanation when there was something wrong with Sam. But this time? Dean was just confused, he had no idea what was going on in Sam's head, and he wasn't sure if it was because the situation was so much more complicated than normal, or because Dean just didn't know him anymore. Maybe what Sam had gone through had been enough to change him for good and Dean might still have lost that relationship with him that he had been trying to protect…

…maybe the Sam he knew really was gone after all.

"Oh," Sam sighed. Dean couldn't see him passed Jim, so he couldn't see his face to try and make out what that tone was – relief? Disappointment? Dean couldn't help but question himself and what he had always thought he'd known.

"Do you want me to get him?" Jim asked, his tone gentle. Sam must have shaken his head because Jim sighed and continued. "Are you sure? I know he wouldn't mind being here if you needed him to be."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Sam sighed as Jim finished taking his blood pressure. He did want Dean with him, but he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. He felt like he should be stronger and better able to deal with things without having to run to Dean all the time. He had lived two years without his brother or father there, and he'd managed to keep himself safe without falling apart every five minutes. Why should this be any different?

Because it is, you idiot, Sam scolded himself. No one would blame you for wanting Dean here!

Sure, Sam added, angry that he would even try and convince himself that being weak was okay. Go running to Dean every time something happens, every time you have a boo boo to fix! What a cry baby!

Jim was offering to get Dean, and Sam was so tempted to say yes. He turned pleading eyes on him, hoping that he would understand the message, hoping that he would know how much Sam needed his brother with him even as he was insisting otherwise. Sam was certain Dean would get it, he knew that if Dean were here he'd know Sam needed him, but he just couldn't bring himself to admit it.

"I'm sure," Sam insisted, his voice barely above a whisper. He closed his eyes against the confusion in his head and the tears in his eyes. One minute he wanted to yell, to call for his brother and beg him to stay close, and the next minute… he was calling himself a coward and wondering when his life had gotten so pathetic. He knew it had been at some point during his stay with the bikers, and yet he wasn't sure when exactly it had happened. Was it just a result of the experience itself? Or was it while he was a child waiting in the darkness for a rescue that would never come, believing that Dean had burned alive? Or was it after Sam had been returned to normal, when the leather strap was tearing through his flesh?

Sam was sure he would never figure it out for certain, and somehow that made it so much worse. Instead, he kept his eyes closed and tried to think about something else, anything but what had happened in that damn cellar…

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"How is he?" Dean asked, stepping aside to let Jim into the hall. Jim pulled the door closed, and Dean tried to catch a final glimpse of his brother before it shut completely. "Is he okay?"

Jim sighed, rubbing tired eyes.

"Physically he's pulling through better than I had hoped," Jim told him. "His injuries are healing well, there's no sign of infection or anything like that. He's probably really stiff and sore right now, though. Emotionally?"

"He doesn't seem himself, does he," Dean agreed.

"Well, that's not surprising, Dean, after what he's been through," Jim pointed out gently. He hesitated, and Dean could see the instant he decided how to form his next thought. "What worries me is that he isn't dealing with this the way he normally deals with things. Normally he stews a little and then talks it out, but this time there's nothing… there's just…"

"He's not talking, that's for sure," Dean muttered, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"He's shutdown, withdrawn," Jim finished his thought. "I don't know how this is going to go, Dean. I'm more worried about how he's dealing with this than I am about his injuries. Those will heal, but the rest? I think you need to talk to him."

Dean laughed, though it was a laugh that lacked humour and was aimed more at his complete lack of faith in his own ability to help his little brother deal with a mosquito bite let alone whatever thoughts and issues he was facing because of what he had been through… Dean didn't think he could really help Sam anymore, he was out of his depth.

"I don't think that's going to help anything," Dean sighed, eyeing his old friend carefully before continuing. "Sam doesn't want me around, not right now anyway. He doesn't want to talk to me…"

"Sam wants you around, Dean," Jim assured him gently.

"No he doesn't," Dean snapped, harsher than he had intended. He was so tired and he had more on his mind than he was willing to talk about himself, but he immediately felt bad for snapping at Jim. Jim had always been there for him and Sam. "You didn't hear him earlier, Jim."

"And you didn't see his eyes five minutes ago," Jim pointed out. "I asked him if he wanted me to get you for him."

"And he said no, I heard."

"Yes, he did say no, but he didn't mean it. His eyes were telling a different story," Jim insisted. He sighed and shook his head. "You boys are both as stubborn as your father was… look, go in there or don't, that's your decision to make. But regardless of what Sam's saying right now or yesterday or tomorrow, he needs you… and at least one of you has to be willing to admit it."

Jim walked passed Dean, leaving him standing outside Sam's room with confusion in his eyes. Dean didn't know what to do, but he knew he should figure it out soon. Instead of standing there, thinking about it more and more and confusing himself more each time a new thought came to him, he turned to face the door, took hold of the knob and walked inside.

"Heya Sammy…"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

_A baton pressed into Sam's back, feeling cold against aching flesh. He knew what was going to happen, and he knew that it was going to hurt even more than before, but he was determined to grit his teeth and bear it. There was no way he was going to give this guy the satisfaction of making him scream..._

_No way!_

_The Boar forced Sam to walk to the centre of the room on unsteady legs. He had only had an hour to rest since the man's last visit, and it hadn't been enough to recover enough to even stop shaking, but the minute the door opened Sam swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself to get to his feet._

_In the centre of the room were two men waiting for him, and just as Sam thought his resolved would falter and his legs would give out from under him, they grabbed him by the arms and held him while they slipped chains around his wrists._

_Within thirty seconds, Sam was hanging in the centre of the room, suspended from the ceiling with pain shooting through his shoulders and down his arms…_

…_but he stayed on his feet._

The first hit with the baton wasn't as hard as Sam had been expecting, it was easy to bear but he knew there was worse to come. The Boar warmed up quickly and each hit got harder and harder…

"_You know what I think about when I'm doing this?" The Boar asked, moving around Sam to see his eyes. Sam raised his face to look into the eyes of the man beating him, only to be rewarded with a jab right in the stomach with one end of the baton that left Sam winded. "I think about the look on your brother's face when I told him what I'd do to you… coz that's what this is all about, you know. This has nothing to do with you, this is all because of him. He had to learn he can't mess with me, everyone has to learn they can't mess with me!"_

"_If Dean were here, you know he'd kill you," Sam warned him, trying to ignore the black spots forming at the edges of his vision. "You hurt me, or kill me, it's not going to matter if he's dead. Why do you think this is going to bother him now?"_

"_Because he died with your name on his lips, begging me not to kill him… he begged for his life to save yours…" The Boar taunted, swinging the baton at Sam's abdomen. Sam 's legs were knocked out from under him and he felt his knees hit the ground painfully as his shoulders stretched taking his total weight on them._

_Sam wheezed and looked back up._

"_Dean… wouldn't… beg for… anything…" he insisted, unsure whether he was trying to convince The Boar or himself. He pulled his feet back under him slowly and dragged himself to stand again. "He… wouldn't…"_

_Sam wasn't entirely convinced that, upon dying, Dean wouldn't have begged for a way to save Sam's life. Dying with the knowledge of the pain Sam would suffer with no way to protect him, Dean would have felt like a complete failure… but Sam knew his brother, and he was certain Dean still wouldn't have begged – not for anything! Begging wasn't in Dean's nature, it just wasn't. Dean would have gone out fighting, which meant The Boar was just trying to torment Sam even more…_

…_and it had almost worked._

"_My brother is stronger than you could ever be," Sam spat, anger flashing in his eyes. His hands gripped the chains tightly as he raised pained legs into the air and swung himself toward The Boar, driving bare feet into the man's abdomen. The hit wasn't nearly as strong as it should have been, as it normally would have been, but it knocked The Boar a few feet away for a moment – and it made Sam feel a little better. "You're have the man he is!"_

"_You're just as bad as your brother!" The Boar snapped, his eyes flashing as he stepped back toward Sam. "You just don't know when to shut up!"_

The baton was raised again and Sam watched as if it were in slow motion, the minute it hit him across the face, he lost consciousness…

…_one last view of The Boars face as he was dragged away from the chains and dumped in the corner._

_The words The Boar whispered, his face so close to Sam's that he almost gagged on the smell of beer on the man's breath, followed Sam into the well of darkness that took him over._

"_The last thing Dean saw, is the knife that I'm going to use to cut your throat…"_

Sam's eyes flew open as he felt a hand on his shoulder. He reached out to grab the hand, but he couldn't reach it and pulled away instead. He almost launched himself out of the bed in his rush to get away, but he was held in place by whoever was in the room.

"Sam?" Dean's voice was gentle, but firm. "It's me, it's okay."

Sam stopped fighting and turned his eyes on his brother. When he saw him he relaxed and let Dean help settle him back against the pillows. Sam felt pain shoot through his ribs as he shifted, skin pulling against stitches in various places on his body – his back, his stomach, it made him realise how much work Jim had done to repair the damage that Sam had suffered.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked, concern flaring in his eyes.

"Yeah," Sam answered, avoiding eye contact.

"Nightmare?" Dean asked. Sam didn't respond, and Dean hesitated. "Need anything?"

"You don't have to do this, you know," Sam told him.

"Do what?"

"This," Sam snapped. "You're trying too hard. You're trying to act like everything's normal, but it's not. And you pretending that it is, is just…"

"I'm not trying to pretend that everything's normal, Sam," Dean assured him. "I don't quite know what to do right now. This was bad, Sammy. Really bad… and I don't know how to fix it."

"I don't expect you to fix it!"

"But that's what I do!" Dean snapped. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to control himself. He didn't want to upset Sam anymore than he already was, but he couldn't help but let his frustration show. He didn't know how to hold it back anymore, he was too tired. "I'm supposed to be able to fix things."

Sam heard the disappointment in his brother's voice, and he wished he could say something to make Dean feel better. It hadn't been his fault that Sam had been taken, and nothing Sam had suffered through at the hands of the maniac bikers had been Dean's fault, but Sam knew he would never be able to convince his brother of that. Dean carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and Sam had always worried that one day it would crush him… and now that he was lying battered and broken in bed, looking up at the desperation in his brother's eyes and seeing Dean's need to take the pain away, take the fear away, Sam wondered if Dean had finally reached breaking point.

"You don't have to fix everything alone," Sam spoke up, his voice quiet. "You don't have to do everything alone. I'm not a kid anymore."

Dean almost smiled.

"Seems like only yesterday you were," he chuckled. The quiet laughter didn't last long and his eyes grew dark as a shadow passed over his face. Sam waited, knowing there was something Dean was about to say that would explain everything but Sam wasn't sure what it was. There had been something bothering Dean since before all of this started, and he wondered if he would finally find out what that was. "I'm not Dad. I can't fix things."

"You don't have to be Dad," Sam sighed, pulling himself so gingerly to sit up against the pillows that he felt like he had barely moved, and yet the angle he was now sitting at allowed him more of an even look into his brothers eyes. "Besides, Dad never fixed things, you did. You always did, even when I was little. Ever since I can remember, it was you I was calling for when I woke up from a nightmare when I was three… you were the one making breakfast, and then lunch, and then dinner… you were the one who taught me to walk, to swim, to ride a bike… even to fight! You were teaching me about hunting before Dad ever did! He was hardly there, and you were always there for me… I could never really rely on Dad – even when I came back from Stanford. You were dying and I still couldn't get him on the phone! He was always a hunter first, and a father second… but you were always there, you were always my brother and I could always rely on you."

Dean blinked and looked away.

"You know he always did the best he could," Dean reminded Sam.

Sam nodded.

"I know, but he had too many people relying on him that he didn't have time to be there for us," Sam pointed. "Believe me, I understand why it was that way, but it doesn't make it better."

"I know it doesn't," Dean agreed for the first time. "But… even when he wasn't around, I knew that he would be home eventually, that there was someone coming to help and to make things better, to make you feel safer. But now he's gone and there's no one left to protect you but me… and I clearly suck at it."

"No you don't," Sam denied. "I didn't really feel much safer with Dad around. I felt safe when you were there, and I always felt better with Dad there too because I knew he'd watch out for you! That's what I was worried about… but Dean, I'm not that little kid stuck in a motel room anymore. I'm an adult, I can fight and shoot on my own, and I've been hunting right by your side for what? Two years now? You don't have to carry all that burden on yourself. Share it a little."

Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"You should try and get some more sleep," Dean announced, changing the subject quicker than Sam had ever seen. "Do you need anything? Are you hungry?"

Sam shook his head.

"I'm fine," Sam assured him.

"You have to eat, Sammy."

"I know, I'm just not hungry," Sam insisted. He felt like getting up and moving around, but he didn't want to do that in front of Dean until he knew he could walk properly without help, so he decided to try and get some more rest. The thought of closing his eyes again wasn't something Sam was looking forward to, but when he let them drop shut as he saw Dean hesitating by his bedside, he realised he wouldn't be able to pry them open again if he tried.

The last thing Sam heard was the door closing quietly as Dean left him alone…

_Alone._

_Sam's eyes were adjusted to the darkness, but the darkness was so thick that he couldn't see through it anyway. He wondered if there was anyway he'd be able to fight his way out if he could stand, but if he couldn't see he'd never be able to make it to any kind of vantage point. He raised a weak up so his hand was in front of his face – well, he assumed it was in front of his face, but since he couldn't see it he could have been wrong._

_He decided to get to his feet and try and find a way to the door where he would wait until it was opened and try to surprise whoever was coming through it. If The Boar was telling the truth, there was no rescue coming and that meant Sam had to get himself out or he would die… and there was no way of knowing when The Boar would decide that he'd grown bored of Sam, so he had to move as soon as possible._

_Sam wriggled himself backward until he found a wall, and pressed his back against it, pulling his legs right under himself. He pushed up on his feet until he was standing, but all he felt was jelly beneath him. He managed to stay upright and quickly started shuffling his feet along the ground as he hands reached out to search the wall. They pried through the darkness in search of obstacles, anything that could hurt him or get in the way, and soon they found the next wall. Sam carefully made his way around the corner, and was relieved to find that the next wall wasn't as far away as he had thought it would be._

_He soon found the door, and by the time he had reached it he felt completely exhausted. He wasn't sure he was going to be able to stand much longer, but the thought of escape and safety forced him to stay on his feet. He reached out a hand and grabbed the doorknob, trying to turn it. He hadn't expected it to turn, and when it did he felt a dread fill his stomach worse than anything he had ever felt before…_

…_if he had been fed at all during his captivity, he knew he would have lost everything in his stomach instantly._

_Knowing that, even if it was a trap, he had to take the opportunity, Sam pulled the door open. He edged through the doorway, his eyes trained in every direction for any sign of danger or a possible way out, but he saw nothing. He pressed his back against the wall and made his way through to the other end of the hall._

_At the end was a doorway. He had no idea where it would lead, but he figured he had nothing to lose so he hurried down the hall moving as quickly as he could manage until he finally reached it. The door was unlocked, and when he pulled it open all he saw was darkness inside. He reached inside with his hand and searched for a light switch, but there was nothing within reach. He stepped inside and searched a little further, but a second later he felt a blow in the middle of his back that felt like a knee or a foot. It caught him off guard and he felt himself launched inside. Another kick from another direction and he found himself sprawled on the ground in a helpless lump._

_The room erupted with laughter and Sam felt his cheeks burn red._

"_What a pathetic excuse for a man!"_

"_Can't even find his way in the dark!"_

"_Is he gonna cry?"_

"_That's what babies do ain't it!"_

"_He'll beg for his brother!"_

"_Shame about that barbecue huh?"_

"_Yeah, ain't no one gonna rescue the little girl now!"_

_Sam tried to get up, but a foot was jammed into his back again, pressing his face into the dirt floor. As he tried to breathe, all he got was a mouthful of dirt, and he coughed and spluttered as he tried to shift under the weight of the man holding him down._

_Someone reached over to him and, as the weight was taken off his back, they flipped him over so he was lying face upright now. He still couldn't see properly, but he suddenly realised he had squeezed his eyes shut to try and hide from the attacks that were coming…_

…_and it wasn't working._

_Boots were laying into him, kicking his ribs, his legs. Sam tucked himself into a ball, making himself as tiny as he could, and covered his head with his hands. He felt small and weak and pathetic, but it was all he could do to save himself and he knew that all he couldn't do was to stay alive. Another time might come for him to escape, but right now all he could do was try to live…_

…_until he began to wonder why that seemed to matter so much. He had nothing left in him to fight, no strength left, no determination, just fear and pain. His father was dead, his brother was dead, his girlfriend was dead, his friends were dead – what did it really matter if he lived or died?_

_And yet, somehow, he felt a tiny, niggling, aching feeling inside that insisted it mattered…_

…_so he covered his head and protected himself as best he could._

_When lights flooded the room, he shaded his eyes again. He hadn't been prepared for the light, especially a light that was as harsh as that one was, and it made his head hurt._

"_Open your eyes, you pathetic excuse for a man!"_

"_Yeah, face it like a man!"_

_Sam heard a little voice inside his own head join in the insults, and part of him wanted to squeeze his head between his hands until it popped, just to make the condescending voice stop yelling at him. He couldn't help but think these men were right, that they had a point when they were pointing out how pathetic and small he had become. Sam had always been able to face whatever was coming his way, he'd always been able to get up and fight… and yet now, all he felt was fear._

'_Yeah,' Sam's own voice jibed him. 'Open your eyes, you coward, and face whatever's coming!'_

_Sam pried his eyes open and glanced around. What he saw made his eyes widen with fear and expectation, and he knew there was no way he'd be able to keep hold of his resolve not to scream. The Boar had finally found something that nobody would be able to withstand for long…_

_A shining hot poker was in the hands of the biker standing before him. Sam didn't actually see The Boar anywhere, but it was possible he was there, watching, enjoying the show. Sam almost wished it was him holding the poker, for some reason he had gotten used to him being the source of all his pain, and adding a new man to the mix added to Sam's uncertainty and anxiety._

_He made a noise deep in his throat as the man stepped closer, the heat from the poker radiating toward Sam. He wanted to close his eyes, but something inside him wouldn't let him and instead he found himself staring into cruel eyes that glittered with excitement at the prospect of being the one to make Sam cry out in pain._

_The poker came closer and closer…_

…_until all Sam was aware of was pain, the smell of burning flesh and the sound of far off cries that sounded like a wounded animal._

Sam awoke, his breath caught painfully in his throat, his chest pounding hard in his chest. He was sitting up in bed, his good arm pressed against his chest where the poker had burned him, and he felt an agonising wave of nausea. That had been the only time he had screamed, the only time he had made any noise when he had been beaten, and the memory of it had been buried in his head somewhere until now. He wasn't sure what had brought it to mind, and he suddenly wished that Dean was with him. He needed to see his brother, he needed to be able to feel safe and to do something about the pain radiating from his burn on his chest and shoulder that he was sure was a left over ghost from the dream but nonetheless was making it almost impossible to think straight.

Sam didn't even realise what he was doing when he climbed out of bed and fumbled his way across the room. He pulled the door open, launched himself into the hall and tried to take a deep breath to steady himself. He saw darkness at the edges of his vision, and he knew it was dark in the hall anyway but there was some sort of light up ahead. It was low and dim, and the hazy edges of Sam's vision made it hard for hi to distinguish where it was coming from so he simply put one foot in front of the other and headed for it as quickly as he could.

Images from the nightmare kept flashing before his eyes, and Sam wasn't completely certain he was awake. Part of him wondered if he was actually still stumbling toward that door in his dream, toward the pack of bikers that would beat him, humiliate him and torture him with a hot poker.

The pain burned brighter…

"Dean?" Sam called, barely able to gasp out his brother's name. "DEAN!"

Sam was almost at the end of the hall, the light had become brighter and his eyes started to hurt like they had in that room. He shaded them and tried to tell himself it was in his head, but his eyes wouldn't listen. He heard a voice nearby but couldn't make out the words. He heard something that sounded like footsteps, but he couldn't see where they were coming from. All he could see were the legs laying into him… the voices calling out to him that he was weak and pathetic, and suddenly tears were choking in his throat.

"Dean!" Sam tried again, letting go of the door frame and forcing his way into the room, surrounded by light. He felt hands gripping his good arm and something inside him immediately started to calm. It was Dean, it had to be… Dean wasn't dead, he was there, right in front of Sam – even if he couldn't see him. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean's voice finally cut through everything else in Sam's head and helped him to refocus. His vision began to clear, the noises in his head began to subside and Sam was beginning to feel a little more normal now. "I'm right here."

Sam felt Dean led him further into the room and soon he felt a gentle pressure on his shoulder urging him to sit down. A glass of water was pressed into his hand and he drank it carefully as he felt himself relax. His vision was returning to normal and he could see three pairs of concerned eyes watching him; Dean, Jim and Bobby were all waiting to hear him say he was okay, to explain what had happened, but all Sam could do was drink the water and enjoy the cool fluid as it slid easily down his throat.

He put the cup down.

"Thanks," he said, trying to smile. He could feel himself shaking and knew that it wouldn't go unnoticed. "Sorry…"

"For what?" Dean asked as Jim disappeared for a moment.

"Here," Jim said when he returned, wrapped a blanket around Sam. "You must be cold… are you hungry? I can get you something to eat, it might make you feel better."

Sam nodded, not really feeling hungry but knowing that he should try to eat something after bursting in the room and scaring everyone.

"Sam?" Dean prompted. Sam knew that Dean wanted to know what had happened, but Sam just shook his head. He didn't want to talk about it, especially not in front of everyone.

"I got some more books out in the car," Bobby announced suddenly, getting to his feet. "I'll go get 'em."

Jim was busy making as much noise as he could while he prepared a sandwich for Sam, giving the impression he was too distracted to be listening. Sam knew they were doing what they thought was best for him, but he really didn't want to talk about it.

The look on Dean's face told him that he was fresh out of options.

"I just had a nightmare," Sam explained. "About… just a nightmare."

"About something that happened?" Dean asked. Sam nodded and pulled the blanket closer around him. He hadn't realised how cold he was, he couldn't seem to stop shaking. "What was it?"

"Dean…" Sam began, hoping he could explain to Dean how much he didn't want to go into it, but he didn't get the chance.

"Sammy, I gotta know, man," Dean told him. "For one thing, I'm going crazy out here because I don't know what I can do, but for another thing I need to know what happened so I know that I did the right thing!"

"Right thing?" Sam asked, confused.

"I killed that bastard, Sammy," Dean explained gently. "I killed him after he shot you… and I will never doubt that that was the right thing to do because he hurt you and I will always do whatever it take to protect you… I don't think I will ever regret killing him, but part of me doesn't think that was enough. I wanted to tear him apart, and a bullet seemed to easy…"

Sam shuddered, though not entirely from the cold or from fear this time. At least, not from fear for himself. He was always worried about Dean because of what he was willing to do to protect his little brother, and Sam always felt guilty for that. He felt guilty because every time this happened, Dean had to live with the knowledge that he'd killed someone… and Sam had to live with that too. Sam understood what Dean meant, though. He had wanted to kill The Boar with his bare hands, to make him suffer for what he had done, and instead he had shot him.

That just seemed to Dean like The Boar had gotten off too easy, but Sam was glad that was how it went down.

"Hot pokers," Sam muttered quietly. He quickly explained what had happened with as little detail as possible, just telling Dean enough to satisfy him, and when he was finished he was shaking even more violently. He looked forward to the day when he wouldn't have to relive everything that had happened.

"Yup," Dean sighed. "A bullet was too good for the bastard."

Sam smiled weakly, hoping to convince Dean he was okay.

"You did the right thing, Dean," Sam told him. "You couldn't have done anything else, and I wouldn't have wanted you too. You made him stop, and that's what matters. He didn't need a violent death, and I needed you… I still do."

Dean smiled in return, relief seeming to shine in his eyes. Sam picked up the sandwich that suddenly appeared before him and bit into it. He was suddenly aware of the rumbling in his stomach and it was a few bites before his eyes started roaming around the room as he munched away.

The first thing he saw were the books spread out on the table before him.

"What's all this?" he asked between bites.

"Research," Dean answered. "The mystic, the one who changed you, had a medallion that was stolen from him after he was killed. We think that's how the bikers controlled him, made him do what they wanted… to make sure this never happens again – to anyone else I mean – we have to salt and burn the body and the medallion."

"Oh," Sam said, putting the sandwich down and forcing the last bite down his throat though it suddenly tasted dry and stale. "When?"

"When what?"

"When are you going on the salt and burn?"

"Well…" Dean hesitated, looking up at Jim. "We were going to go in a couple of hours, actually."

"Who?"

"Bobby and me…"

Sam shook his head.

"No," he said, sounded stronger and more determined than he had felt in a long time. "I'm going with you. You and me, like always."

"Sam, you're not up to it," Dean disagreed. "You're not strong enough."

"I can make it," Sam insisted. "You are NOT doing this without me!"

"Sammy, come on," Dean began, but he was cut off my Sam getting to his feet so fast he knocked over his chair.

"No!" he yelled, banging his fist on the table angrily. "This is the bastard that did this to me, that started all this in the first place! I have a right to be a part of this! I have to be!"

Sam turned on his heal and stormed up the hall, his anger giving him he strength he needed to walk confidently and give the suggestion that he had more strength in him than he did. Either way, he was not being left out of this hunt, he was going!

**SUPERNATURAL**

**A/N – Sorry about the delay, the Festive Season huh? But here it is! I hope you like it!**

**Reviews always welcome.**


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, I know… the boys, the car, the whole thing is Kripke's. But I have the dvds and I reserve the right to play with my boys like puppets and put them through all sorts of dilemma's that make me feel better about the fact that I have nothing to do with the show itself! I like to call myself the PUPPETMASTER! Mwahahahahaha! Point? Not mine. Sad.

**Chapter Eight**

Dean sat in his seat, his jaw dropped with shock, as he watched his little brother storm up the hall toward his room. He wasn't sure how long he sat staring at that room, even after the door had closed and Sam was out of sight, but he was sure it was a few minutes. He couldn't figure out what to do, what he should say, but he was certain that Sam shouldn't be going on this salt and burn with him. He understood how Sam felt about it, but he just couldn't stand the thought of his little brother walking into a hunt when he was still in such bad shape after his ordeal. Dean wanted to be able to take care of this for him, to be able to put an end to the whole thing and be able to get back afterwards and tell Sam that there was nothing else to worry about.

It was all Dean knew how to help.

"You're not really going to let him go, are you?" Jim asked, standing nearby and staring at the closed door. "You can't let him go, he's not well enough."

"I know," Dean assured him. "But I don't quite know how to tell him that."

"You're Dad used to give you boys an order," Jim pointed out.

"Yeah, and look how well that worked out," Dean reminded him. "Besides, Sam and I don't work that way. We're a team, we look out for each other and we figure things out together… maybe leaving him out of this wasn't the best thing I've done."

"You weren't leaving him out of things, Dean, he was recovering and resting," Jim said, his tone sharpening. Dean tore his eyes away from the door and looked up at him. "He's hurt, he's clearly having nightmares again, and he is not ready to walk into a hunt… not even a salt and burn. He needs to rest and figure things out in his head before you drag him into this again."

"Drag him into it?" Dean asked, narrowing his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It doesn't mean anything, it just means that if you want to do the right thing for your brother, you need to get him to stay here, and you and Bobby need to take care of this on your own."

Jim walked out, leaving Dean alone to think about what he had said. Jim had a point, Sam was still recovering from his injuries, and he was having nightmares again, but something was nagging at Dean that he just couldn't push out of his mind. Something Sam had said… well, he hadn't said it exactly, he had more implied it. Either way, it was there and it was something very real, but maybe it was something Dean could help Sam with after all.

This whole thing had left Dean questioning himself about whether he was really able to take care of Sam, to protect him and help him, but it had never had him doubting Sam. Not once had Dean thought Sam couldn't deal with whatever life threw at him, and not once had it occurred to him that Sam wouldn't be able to take care of himself. Sam had survived perfectly well on his own at Stanford, and there was no reason he couldn't survive in the hunting world either… except that the hunting world was so much more dangerous than any other. But Sam was up to the challenge. He was good at everything he did, and he was careful – and he had Dean there to watch his back. Dean knew that that was why he had survived these last couple of years, because he had Sam. Sam didn't just watch his back, he did so much more than that and it always kept Dean grounded. Dean was more cautious with Sam by his side, but there was something else that he couldn't put his finger on that Sam did, and he knew that that was a big reason why he had survived this long too.

And he had never doubted Sam's ability to protect him, either. Sam had kept him alive, the same way Dean had…

What Dean hadn't been prepared for, however, was the complete lack of faith Sam had in himself. He had come out of this ordeal believing that he was weak and useless, and Dean knew that he had to help Sam see that that wasn't the case… he just had to figure out how to keep him safe at the same time.

The final realisation Dean had come to sealed the deal…

…he knew what he had to do.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Sam was tightening his belt over his jeans when the door behind him opened. He turned around to see Dean standing in the doorway watching him, and Sam felt the urge to cover his injuries as quickly as he could, as if Dean was seeing them for the first time and would decide to stop Sam from going on the salt and burn. Plus, those wounds had become a mark of shame to Sam, and he didn't want anyone to see them. He needed to be normal, he needed for people to believe he was his normal self again, and a big part of that was feeling normal… which started with putting some real clothes on and hiding every sign that something had happened.

The cuts and bruises on his face were impossible to hide, but at least the worst of the damage was on his chest and back, and that he could cover.

"You're not talking me out of this," Sam announced, his voice stronger than he really felt. "I'm going, and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

"Okay," Dean agreed, shrugging his shoulders. "I wont stop you."

"You wont?" Sam asked, holding a white undershirt in his hands. He shook his head to clear the surprise and forced himself to put the shirt on, remembering that he wanted to be normal and hide any memory of what had happened. He winced as he passed the shirt over his head, but the look of pain was hidden behind the shirt and gone from his face by the time the shirt was settled in place. He tugged it over bandages carefully as he continued. "I thought you'd be in here reading me the riot act, telling me I wasn't up to it and that you weren't going to allow it."

"Never worked for Dad, did it?" Dean asked, a smile hinting at his lips.

"Well, we always did what he told us to…" Sam disagreed. He thought for a moment before adding, "Mostly."

Dean chuckled.

"Yeah, and then eventually we'd do what we wanted or what we thought was right… at least, when we grew up we did. Like the hunt with those vampires, he told us to bail and we didn't… we saved his life that day, and a couple of times after that," Dean reminded him. "Besides, you sounded pretty determined to go, and I don't know, I thought you would tell me if you didn't think you were up to it."

Sam shot Dean a disbelieving look as he slid one arm into his button up shirt.

"Okay, fine," Dean sighed. "I figured that, after everything you've been through, you deserve the chance to put an end to it. You should be there to see this thing through once and for all, and if coming with me on the salt and burn is going to help you sleep at night, then I'm all for that."

Sam hesitated as he buttoned his shirt, wondering whether Dean was trying to pull something. Maybe he was saying all this but then he would change his mind and tell Sam he really didn't like the idea of him going on this hunt and he would ask Sam to stay behind where Dean knew he'd be safe…

…because that usually worked, Sam had to admit. But not this time. Besides, he knew what this mystic was capable of, at least he had an idea. And if Sam were being completely honest, he would have to admit that this wasn't just about revenge for him, it was also about his concern about Dean. Even with Bobby watching Dean's back, Sam didn't like it. He wanted to be there himself, to see the end of this whole nightmare and to make sure Dean was okay.

He wanted to protect his brother the same way his brother had always protected him. He was never sure whether Dean realised how much Sam looked out for him, but that didn't matter… all that mattered was that Sam was there to do it, and he had to start now. He wanted to put an end to all of this, once and for all, and start his life again. He wanted to get back to normal as soon as possible, and that meant going out in the Impala with Dean and digging up this mystics corpse so they could deep fry a ghost, and the stupid pendant!

It had to be that way, there was just no other option.

"Good," Sam replied at last. "We know where the pendant is?"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Dean grinned, feeling like things were finally getting back to normal at last. He and Sam were talking about the details of a hunt, they were preparing to get out there and put an end to and ugly chapter in their lives, and Sam look almost strong enough to deal with it. Dean wasn't stupid, though, he knew that Sam wasn't ready for this, but he had weighed everything up very carefully before he walked through that door, and he had realised that the one thing that was more dangerous than Sam's injuries were the doubts and fears he still carried with him and the only way he was going to be able to leave them behind was to help with this hunt. Not just any hunt, but this one.

"Yup, good ole Bobby," Dean answered. "He went back after we got you out and searched the dead guy's pockets until he found it."

Sam paled a little, and for a moment Dean worried that he would fall, but he recovered quickly. Dean did wonder for a moment whether he was making the right decision, but he knew he couldn't doubt that now. Sam needed to be involved in this and he needed to do it now.

"He went back in there?" Sam asked, standing with his hands hanging loosely by his sides. "What about the others? Were they there? He could've been killed!"

"Nah, he was fine, Sammy, I promise," Dean assured him. "The others were gone and Bobby was perfectly safe. He brought the pendant back and now that we know what it is we can take care of this whole thing. Then it's a bit more R&R, I'd say at least a week of Pastor Jim's homecooked meals, and then we hit the road again."

Sam nodded, grabbing his jacket.

"Okay," he agreed, zipping the jacket up and stretching out some of the kinks in his back. "Ready?"

"Ready," Dean agreed. He stepped aside and let Sam walk passed him, leading the way toward the kitchen. Dean knew that Sam would want a quick look at the books before they left and he was all for that. He wasn't quite ready to head out anyway, he felt like he needed a minute or two to wrap his head around the idea of his tortured little brother walking out that door and into the waiting arms of the hunt.

Walking into a hunt was always dangerous, but this one was worse than any other. What should have been a standard salt and burn could turn out a lot worse if Dean couldn't get through it and keep Sam safe at the same time. He had to keep Sam alert and aware, uninjured and alive, and he wasn't sure he'd been doing the best job over the last few days…

…but that didn't matter, because most important now was that Sam see he could still take care of things, that he wasn't weak and pathetic. He briefly wondered what else had happened in those hours Sam was held captive that had shaking Sam's faith in himself so much that he had lashed out against Dean so badly. It was like he had something to prove – and that wasn't a good thing to take into a hunt.

At least this hunt should be fairly safe and there was back up not far away if they needed it. During a salt and burn, Dean would be able to watch Sam and talk him through whatever doubts he might be feeling as they worked, but on whatever the next hunt may be there might not be that option.

Dean knew he was doing the right thing for his little brother. He had never been so certain of anything in his life. He had listened between the lines when Sam had told him about his nightmare, about what he had endured when he had tried to escape, and Dean heard a lot more than Sam had been willing to say…

…somehow those biker bastards had made Sam feel small and weak, and Dean was determined to help him remember that he was anything but. Sam was one of the strongest people Dean had every known, and he would be sure to tell him that one day.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"You're kidding!" Bobby growled, glaring at Jim as they stood in the lounge room facing each other. "No way in HELL is that kid ready to go back out there!"

"I know that, but what can I do? They're adults, and hunters in their own right, how am I supposed to tell them that Sam has to stay here? It's not like they're kids, I can't ground them anymore," Jim reminded Bobby, keeping his voice lower than Bobby's but his tone was just as tight. "I don't like it, but Dean's the only one who has a chance at stopping Sam from going."

"Well, what's he going to do?" Bobby asked.

"I don't know," Jim admitted. "He didn't say. I told him I didn't think Sam should go, that he wasn't ready and needed to rest but I have no idea what Dean's going to do about it."

"Right," Bobby snapped, heading for the kitchen where he barged through the doorway. Sam and Dean were sitting at the table, a book between them as they went over the specifics of the hunt. It looks like Sam had found something Bobby might have missed because they were deep in conversation until Bobby's entrance made them both jump. It hadn't escaped Bobby's attention that Sam was fully dressed, either, and that just made him angrier. "What the hell is this I'm hearing about you going on this hunt?"

Sam glanced at Dean.

"Bobby," Dean spoke carefully, his tone suggesting that this wasn't open for discussion. "Why don't we go and talk about this in the lounge room huh? Or, if you're planning on yelling – or clocking me one again – we'll take it outside."

Bobby, his face red, marched out of the kitchen and back into the lounge room. He heard Dean say something to Sam.

"I'll take care of this, don't worry," Dean was assuring him. "I'll be right back."

That just made Bobby feel even more furious, that he was something Dean thought he was going to take care of, that he was going to handle the situation. He had another thought coming if he thought he was going to manage the situation when that mean letting an injured Sam in on this hunt.

The last thing Sam needed to be thinking about was hunting!

Bobby stormed out of the house, letting the front door slam shut behind him, knowing that the fresh air wouldn't help him calm down any, but that at least Pastor Jim's nice vase that Mrs McKinnen had made for him last year wouldn't get trashed.

Dean was standing patiently when Bobby turned around.

"You're letting him go on the salt and burn?" Bobby asked, glaring at Dean in the darkness. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong with me, Bobby, but there's something wrong with you if you think you get a vote in this! This isn't your decision to make, it's mine and it's Sam's," Dean reminded him, matching Bobby's fierce tone in a way that only one Winchester ever dared to in the past. "I know he's hurt, but there's more going on here than you realise and going on this hunt is the best thing for him. It's normal, it's what would happen at any other time and if he needs to do this to deal with a few issues and feel like Sam again, then I'm going to let him! Besides, it's not like I'm tossing him in a cage with a hungry lion with nothing to defend himself but an old pocket knife, I'm going to be there too and I'm not going to let anything happen to him!"

"Is that right?" Bobby asked, sarcasm leaking through his voice. "Like you had so much luck protecting him from the big bad world lately?"

Dean's eyes flashed anger, but he remained where he was.

"I wouldn't say that again," he warned Bobby. "Sam needs this, and I'm going to be right there watching his back. This is what we do, and if he tells me he needs something I'm going to do whatever I can to help him. This is what he needs to do!"

"That doesn't mean he's ready for it! He's walking in there wounded, Dean! He nearly died in that craphole, and now you want him to jump back into a hunt?"

"No, I don't! But Sam needs to do this! He has to know it's over, for himself! He has to take care of this himself, and the sooner we get it done the better!"

"Why?"

"Because he can't eat, he can't sleep, he has nightmares all the time – again! He was just starting to get his life back, and damned if I'm going to let him lose that! He thinks he's weak and useless, Bobby… have you ever felt like that? Ever?"

Bobby shook his head.

"No," he admitted, though he knew he was lying.

"Well, Sam does… and he shouldn't! But whatever those bastards did to him in there has taken away a part of who he is, or he thinks it has anyway… I'm going to get it back for him, and God help you if you try and get in my way!"

Dean turned on his heal and stalked inside the house, furious. Bobby rubbed his temple, thinking back for a moment to a time when he had felt useless and wondered how he had gotten through it. Maybe he should have worked it out on some demon's ass too.

"Dean, wait," Bobby called. Dean turned to face him, his eyes still flashing a warning of anger simmering just below the surface. "Forget his injuries… Sam's going in there with a helluva lotta anger and doubt nailed up inside him right now… do you think that's safe?"

Dean hesitated, thinking about that for a moment. Bobby could see in his eyes that it hadn't changed his mind about Sam going on the hunt, and when Dean spoke, he confirmed what Bobby already knew.

"I hunted for a long time with the anger and doubt after Dad died," Dean told him, his voice lower and somehow more dangerous. "And Sammy dragged me out of that… I wouldn't be here now, otherwise. Nor would he, for that matter… and I'm going to return the favour."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Sam climbed into the passenger seat of the Impala gingerly, trying not to lean too heavy on his back as every wound ached from the movement alone. He wondered briefly if he was doing the right thing. He knew he wasn't physically ready and part of him wanted to hide and just stay inside where it was safe, but that was why he had to do this. He couldn't spend the rest of his life hiding out from the rest of the world. This was the best time for him to put these issues behind him, when there was still something to face up to from what had caused him so much pain and fear in the first place. If he waited, he would always regret it and he would never be able to recover properly… he'd never be himself again, and he'd never be strong enough to protect Dean.

Dean started the car as Bobby hung back by the porch, sending Jim over with something in his hand.

"Here," Jim announced, handing something wrapped in cloth through the opened window to Sam. "You might need this if you want to burn it."

Sam opened the cloth and saw a beautiful pendant inside with blood red stones all around the outside of it and a deep blue, almost black stone in the middle. He wrapped it back up and pocketed it.

"Thanks," he said, looking up at Jim. He was tempted to add that he was scared and wanted to stay behind after all, but he bit his lip and turned away from Jim to stare out the windshield instead.

"See you in a little while," Dean called out, putting the car into gear and pulling away slowly. "You okay?"

Sam nodded but didn't respond, not trusting himself to talk without giving away how scared he really was. Dean didn't say anything else along the drive, and Sam was grateful because he was certain that if Dean had said anything else or asked again, Sam would have given into his fear and begged his brother to take him back to Jim's. Not once did Dean tell him that he didn't have to do this. He never tried to tell him that he didn't have anything to prove, and Sam was relieved. He knew Dean understood somehow, he knew how Sam was feeling and why he was reacting the way he was. Somehow Dean had figured it out, and he seemed to have remembered how to be himself again, the way he had always been before this ordeal had happened.

"Thanks," Sam said, suddenly breaking the silence.

"For what?" Dean asked, genuinely confused.

"For what you said back there," Sam explained. "To Bobby."

"You heard that huh?"

"Some of it," Sam nodded. "Mostly the parts where you told him to back off and that you knew this was something I needed to do… you're right, it is, and I'm glad you get it."

"Geez, Sammy, not everything is a soap opera drama… I just didn't like him coming at me and trying to act like Dad, that's all!"

"Thank you," Sam said shortly, staring out the window again.

"You're welcome," Dean returned, smiling in the dark.

Sam knew that Dean had fought Bobby on his decision to let Sam go on the hunt for more reasons than just because he didn't like Bobby trying to be their father, but he let Dean think otherwise. Sam felt warm and safe in the knowledge that Dean had stood up for him, even when half of Dean had to be fighting his decision, but the impending salt and burn suddenly re-entered Sam's thoughts and suddenly he found him starting to shiver.

This is ridiculous, Sam thought. I've never been scared about a simple salt and burn before!

Not five minutes later, Dean pulled the Impala through the cemetery gates and parked as close to the grave as he could. Dean climbed out of the car straight away and headed for the trunk, leaving Sam to join him when he was ready. Sam hesitated, his chest becoming tight and his breath catching in his throat. He closed his eyes to try and regain himself, but instead he saw the face of The Boar behind his eyes and immediately opened them again.

"Damn," Sam muttered. He glanced in the rear view mirror and saw the trunk was still up, which meant Dean was still getting the things they needed for the salt and burn. Sam tried one more time to compose him, taking a deep breath – swallowing hard so he didn't throw up – and then finally pried the door open and climbed out stiffly.

"You ready, little brother?" Dean called out, his voice casual as it always had been. Salt and burns were physical and sometimes they got a little dangerous, but they were usually the parts of a hunt that they were able to enjoy a little more. They could never relax, of course, they were always on alert and always aware of their surroundings, but they were able to jibe each other as they worked, the banter flowed easily. Sam wondered when that had started, but he couldn't remember it specifically. He wondered if he would ever remember, and he wished it would come to him now, when he needed to think about anything but what they were here to do.

Anything but the chance they might be faced with the Mystic that had caused Sam so much suffering.

"Yeah," Sam answered after a pause, heading toward the trunk. When he got there he accepted the lighter fluid and matches while Dean took the industrial sized salt can and the shovel. It wasn't lost on Sam that he was carrying the lighter of the items, but he didn't say anything. He wasn't stupid enough to think he should be digging this grave, but he wished he could be of more help.

Still, anything was better than sitting at home!

"Let's go," Dean decided, tossing a shotgun loaded with rock salt to Sam and keeping one for himself. He slammed the trunk shut and headed down the path that would lead the way to the Mystic's grave. It wasn't far away, Sam realised when they stopped only moments later, and he glanced at the gravestone nervously. Normally there would be a longer walk, more time for him to recover from his fears and prepare for whatever was to come, but not this time. This time, Sam had no time to think about it.

The gravestone said: _Here lies Johan Tokiscov. Cursed are they who disturb his resting place._

Sam shivered. Normally what was written on the gravestone made no difference to anything, but this time they were dealing with a mystic. Maybe he had put some kind of a curse on the grave, maybe he and Dean would be transformed into toads or slugs or something and the mystic would turn up and squash them, reclaiming his pendant for himself so he could reek havoc on his own.

Sam shook his head and pushed the thought aside, telling himself off for being ridiculous. They were not going to be turned into toads or slugs, and the mystic was not going to squash them. Besides, Sam was in possession of the pendant now, so that should allow them some kind of protection from the spirit.

Dean immediately began digging, his efforts fast and furious as though he was just as eager as Sam to get this out of the way. Sam knew this whole thing had been a nightmare for Dean too, and he wondered if he could have made things any easier for his brother.

Again pushing his thoughts aside, Sam pulled the pendant from his pocket and unwrapped it. He turned it over in his hand, looking at it from every angle. Between the stones was some kind of pattern, and embedded in there was some sort hieroglyphs. He looked on the back and saw an inscription.

"Hey, did you see this?" Sam asked as Dean dug. "There's an inscription on the back."

"Yeah, you said that back at Jim's, but you couldn't read it in the picture, remember?" Dean said, already breathless but refusing to slow his pace. "Bobby didn't see it before… do you know what it says?"

Sam scratched his head.

Sam studied the inscription carefully for some time, trying to read it against the light of the moon. He was straining his eyes, but he was relieved that he had something else to do while Dean dug. He looked up and surveyed the area one last time before realising that Dean had almost finished digging the grave. It must have been at least an hour since Dean had spoken to him – either that, or Dean really was on a roll!

"Looks like Latin," Sam muttered, rubbing the words to make them clearer. As he rubbed, something in the pendant shifted and rotated counter clockwise. "Whoah…"

"What is it?" Dean asked, looking up. Dean jumped out of the grave and joined Sam. He glanced at the pendant as he unscrewed the lid off the salt. "That's weird, it's sort of come apart."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, his voice low. The pendant was laying open in his hands and at first he wasn't sure what he was looking at, but as Dean moved to the other end of the grave with salt, lighter fluid and matches in his hand, something clicked in Sam's mind. The tiny thing sitting in the middle of the pendant was a piece of flesh… and not just skin, but a piece of a human heart. No wonder this pendant had such a hold over the Mystic, a part of him was being kept inside. "Dean, don't…"

Before Sam could finished he saw the grave go up in flames. Dean was standing at the other end, at least six or eight feet from Sam and he hadn't heard Sam tell him to stop. Sam knew that he had to drop the pendant into the flames as soon as possible, but he had to know what that inscription said first. He closed the pendant and turned it over in his hand again, this time using the cloth to wipe the inscription.

Definitely Latin, Sam realised as the translation fell into place.

"Uh oh," he muttered, hurrying toward the grave with it in his hand.

"What's wrong?" Dean called out.

"The inscription!" Sam announced, holding the pendant away from him. "It says _'May he who weareth this be united as one'_. That's the curse, that's how the bikers had control of the mystic. He wasn't just controlling the mystic, he had the mystic inside him!"

"He was possessed?" Dean asked, confused.

"No, not…" Sam was cut off as he felt like something ran into him. "Oompfff!"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"Sam?" Dean called. "Are you okay?"

Dean saw Sam standing over the grave, holding the pendant out in the flames with his hand. Dean couldn't tell from where he was, but he was fairly certain that the flames must be licking at Sam's skin, burning him. Yet Sam didn't move…

…Dean didn't like this!

"Sammy?"

Sam looked up at him and, as he held Dean's gaze he slipped the pendant over his neck, allowing it to hang freely against his chest. This can't be good, Dean thought, fear deep in his throat. Sam grinned and looked into the flames.

"May he who weareth this be united as one," Sam muttered. "May he who wears this stupid ass pendant get whatever's coming to his sorry ass!"

Dean saw the instant Sam began to lean forward toward the flame…

…it wouldn't be long before Sam hit the flames and wouldn't be able to stop himself from falling into the grave and burning to death. The damn mystic had 'united' with Dean's little brother! No way in hell, Dean thought to himself.

Dean grabbed up his shotgun, raised it and aimed it carefully at Sam. He hated being the one to inflict more pain on his little brother, but it was better than watching Sam burn to death. He pulled the trigger and watched as rock salt shattered over Sam's chest…

In spite of the world of hurt Sam must be in from the shot, he barely moved. Instead, he took a step closer to the grave.

"You have to learn your lesson!" Sam yelled. Dean wasn't sure if Sam was talking to himself or Dean, but he didn't care. He wasn't letting this happen. He took a couple of steps back to get a run up, and leapt over the fiery grave, colliding with Sam just before he completely lost his balance and knocked him back from the grave.

As Sam tried to pull himself up, his injuries slowing him down, Dean grabbed the pendant from around his brother's neck and ripped it off him. He tossed it into the grave to burn with the rest of the mystic, and then turned his attention back to Sam…

Sam blinked up at Dean as if seeing him for the first time and tried to smile weakly. Dean, relief filling everything from his boots to his heart, dropped beside his little brother and sighed.

"You okay?" he asked, hoping it would be the last time he would need to ask that question for a while.

Sam shook his head.

"Not really," he admitted for the first time. He righted himself so he was more comfortable as he sat watching the grave burn. "So much for that idea…"

"What idea?" Dean asked.

"Finishing the hunt off myself… you still had to save my ass," Sam explained, his voice gruff with anger. Dean knew that the anger was aimed inward and not at him, but he couldn't help but feel bad about it. "I guess The Boar was right."

"No he wasn't, Sam," Dean assured him. "The Board had no idea what he was talking about. He had beaten you and God knows what else, and he told you what he wanted to believe, but that doesn't make him right. Just because he made you believe you were weak and useless doesn't mean that you are… after what you went through in there, it's not surprising that you would feel down on yourself and blame yourself and think that you can't take care of yourself. But you do…"

Sam scoffed and kept his eyes trained away from Dean.

"And you take care of me," Dean added, his voice lower than before. He had never been so honest with his brother before. "I don't know what I would've done without you these past couple of years – especially after Dad died…"

Sam said nothing, but Dean didn't need him to say anything, he needed him to hear what he was saying. He knew Sam had heard and maybe it would make a difference.

"Come on, Little Brother," Dean told him as the flames died down. "Let's get home and look at your hand."

Sam glanced at his hand as if just becoming aware of the burn he had suffered. Dean knew it had been hurting him because he had been favouring it, but until now Sam didn't seem to have realised why it hurt so much.

Dean was just glad that, for the most part, the hunt was over and life could return to normal…

…arriving at Pastor Jim half an hour later, however, would be the beginning of Dean's realisation that things weren't quite over yet.

**SUPERNATURAL**

**A/N – And another update for the day! Reviews welcome… yes, the story is winding down, but not quite yet!**


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, I know… the boys, the car, the whole thing is Kripke's. But I have the dvds and I reserve the right to play with my boys like puppets and put them through all sorts of dilemma's that make me feel better about the fact that I have nothing to do with the show itself! I like to call myself the PUPPETMASTER! Mwahahahahaha! Point? Not mine. Sad.

**Chapter Nine**

Dean pulled up to Pastor Jim's house and cut the engine. Sam had been quiet on the ride home, but Dean wasn't really that surprised. He knew Sam was feeling down on himself again, in spite of what Dean had told him after everything had gone pear-shaped again. He didn't know why he had expected things to go smoothly, they were Winchester's after all, and things were rarely simple in their lives.

What Dean wouldn't do sometimes for an easy life, for things to go the way he planned.

This salt and burn, for example. It was supposed to be routine, basic, something that Sam could get involved with and work out a few issues while watching a pretty fire burn a corpse. But instead, the mystic had taken hold of Sam and nearly managed to kill him right before Dean's eyes! That wasn't something Dean had seen coming, that was for sure.

The first thing Dean was aware of was that Jim was standing on the porch waiting for them. He wondered if he'd even gone inside after they'd left, but he was sure he had. He would have been listening out for the familiar rumble of the Impala, no doubt, but he would have waited inside. Dean turned to Sam to make a comment with the intent of making him smile, but Sam was already pulling his exhausted body out of the car.

By the time Dean had gotten out and made his way to help his little brother, Sam was leaning weakly against the Impala, trying to gain enough strength to get him inside and into the solitude of his room. Dean knew that this hunt hadn't done what he had hoped it would do. It was supposed to help Sam realise that he wasn't weak, that he wasn't useless, that he wasn't helpless, but instead it had just made Sam feel like more of a liability than before.

And Dean couldn't help but feel like it was his fault. He should have tried to talk Sam out of it, he should have made Sam stay behind…

…but then, Dean knew, Sam would have grown convinced that Dean had lost faith in him, that Dean believed he was weak too!

It was definitely a lose, lose situation.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean announced, reaching out for Sam's arm, being careful not to touch his hand where the worst of the burn was. "Let's get inside and put a dressing on that burn."

Sam pulled away from Dean and made his own way up the porch steps and into the house. Dean noticed Sam hadn't looked at Jim as he'd passed.

"So, it didn't go so well?" Jim asked, meeting Dean halfway.

"You could say that," Dean said. "I think we're pretty much back to square one. Except he has a new injury… he's got a nasty burn on his hand."

"How did that happen?" Jim asked, turning to hurry inside to check on Sam. "This was supposed to be good for him."

"Yeah, I know… but the mystic made a surprise appearance, and it seems that he wasn't quite as innocent in the whole thing as we had thought," Dean explained. "Sam found an inscription on the pendant that told us that the biker that had Sam wasn't just controlling the mystic, he kind of was the mystic."

"What? He was possessed?"

"Not exactly," Dean sighed, wishing he could understand it all himself. "You'll have to ask Sam, he knows but we didn't really get into the details. The mystic took hold of him and tried to throw him on the fire… oh, you might wanna check his chest, too."

"His chest?" Jim asked, confused. The image of the man standing before him with a genuinely puzzled look on his face would have made Dean laugh if it weren't for the fact that he had so much else to worry about. "What's wrong with his chest?"

"I shot him," Dean answered, his tone flippant though that was the furthest from how he felt about it.

"You shot your brother…"

"Yeah, but don't worry, it was only rock salt," Dean assured him. Jim shot him an accusing look and Dean felt immediately defensive. "What? It's not like he's never shot me before!"

"Had you been tortured? Had you almost died? Had you been looking for approval from your brother, only to have him shoot you?"

"Well, no," Dean admitted. "Look, you don't have to make me feel any worse than I already do, believe me… but it was the first thing I thought of. I had to get him away from the flame, and I thought that the rock salt might help to repel the spirit."

"Did it?"

"No."

"You only shot him once, right?"

"Ah, no, when I saw it didn't work the first time, I thought maybe the mystic just didn't get the hint," Dean snapped sarcastically. He was too tired and his head was hurting too much to have this conversation right now. Jim hadn't been there, he hadn't seen what had happened, and Dean had done the first thing he had thought of to try and delay the mystic from throwing himself and Sam onto the fire. And it had worked, it had stopped him long enough for Dean to leap across the flames and push Sam to safety, and it had given Dean the advantage he had needed to get the pendant off his brother.

He stood by what he had done, and he hoped he would never have to do it again.

"Come on," Jim said, changing the subject. The pastor was a genius at changing the subject. "Lets go and see how Sam is and fix him up… again."

Dean, rolling his eyes at the underlying dig aimed at him, followed Jim inside. He was surprised to see the books were gone from the kitchen table and Bobby was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Bobby?" he asked as they reached Sam's room.

"He left," Jim told him. "Just after you boys took off. He wasn't happy about the situation and he thought he would be a better help getting out of the way."

Dean sighed, regretting how hard he had been on his old friend. He hadn't meant to make him leave, he just wanted to make sure that Dean was the one who was going to decide what was best for Sam, no one else was going to get in he way of that. He would have said the same thing to his father under the circumstances… well, maybe you wouldn't have actually said it, but he would have wanted to say it!

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand resting in his lap a if the injury had gone completely unnoticed, when Jim and Dean walked in the door. He didn't move or flinch, he didn't even shift his gaze from the spot on the wall he was staring at, but he knew they were there.

"Dean told me about the hunt," Jim explained, fetching the things he would need to dress the burn. He had a closer look at it. "It's not that serious, looks worse than it is. A bit of burn cream to soothe it and to prevent infection, and you'll be good to go!"

Sam didn't answer him.

"You wont even have a scar, I reckon, as long as you take care of it," Jim added. He sighed when Sam remained silent, and Sam saw him shoot Dean a look.

He didn't care what they thought. He knew the truth and so did they, and he would just have to live with that. Sam couldn't even help during a routing salt and burn, how would he ever help in a full on hunt again? He was useless. He was the first Winchester to have to retire from the hunt. He had walked away from it in pursuit of a normal life before, but being forced into retirement was just humiliating… especially since it wasn't even a demon that had done it! It was a bunch of bikers, human bikers! Sure they had the spirit of a mystic on their team, but that was hardly the point! They were still human!

Sam hadn't been injured beyond repair, he could walk and talk and function, but not as a hunter. He couldn't face the hunt anymore, he couldn't face the demons and spirits he had faced every day before he had met that stupid gang.

He could have at least died! Dying on the job was at least admirable, honourable even. His father had died on the job, albeit not in the way any of them had expected, but he had died on the hunt and he had died to protect his son. There was merit in that… but being forced into retirement because you were too scared and weak to continue.

Jim had finished with his hand, and Sam was sure it probably felt better, but he had felt nothing since the mystic was knocked out of him.

Just numb.

Numb and stupid.

And small.

"Sam?" Dean tried again, waving a hand in front of Sam's face until he got a reaction. "You okay?"

Sam shot Dean a frustrated look, but ignored him. Jim said something about Sam's chest and pulled his clothes away so he could have a better look.

"Just a couple of bruises," he announced. "Nothing major. You're lucky, you missed all the other injuries, or else I may have been looking at more stitches."

Jim left the room a moment later, leaving Dean and Sam alone. Sam was sure that he intended for Dean to talk to Sam, but Sam had no interest in talking. Not to Dean, not to anyone. At least, not until he had figured out how to tell Dean that he was leaving the hunt.

What he would do next, he wasn't sure. He couldn't go back to Stanford, not after everything that happened there. And it wasn't like he had a home to go back to, or family to take him in. But he would figure something out. He would find somewhere to go and bag groceries for all he cared.

Dean had been speaking to him again, but Sam had missed it.

"Okay then," Dean sighed at last. "I'll be just out here if you need anything. If you want to talk or anything… water… juice… just give me a yell, okay?"

Sam shrugged.

Dean put on hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. Without another word, Dean left the room…

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"He's shut down again, hasn't he," Jim stated, not really asking a question. "Worse than before, too!"

"Yeah, I think so," Dean admitted. He sighed and sat at the table, resting his head in his hands, rubbing his tired eyes. He smelled the coffee before it was even put in front of him, and he immediately picked it up and began drinking it as if it was honey nectar. "I don't know what to do next."

"I don't think there's anything left to do," Jim told him. Dean shot him a look of disbelief, and Jim held his hands up in defence. "I don't mean we give up on him, I just mean we have to wait it out. There's nothing else we can do but wait for Sam to get there on his own and hope that he'll come to us when he's ready."

Dean nodded.

"I now," he agreed. "You're right… I hate that you're right, but you are…"

"It happens now and again, don't feel bad," Jim teased, sitting down with his own coffee across from Dean. "You know none of this was your fault, right?"

Dean laughed, bitterly.

"Sure, whatever," Dean muttered. "I should have listened to you and Bobby. I should have made Sam stay here. He wasn't ready for the hunt, and even if he had been the mystic still would have taken him over, there was nothing anyone could have done to stop that from happening, but he's really not ready because otherwise he would have dealt with it better… he wouldn't be sitting in his room right now looking like he'd just lost his puppy."

"Dean, as much as we don't like that you took Sam on that salt and burn, we do understand why you did it," Jim assured him. "We even respect you for it, because we didn't have the courage to do it ourselves. You're right, it was the best chance Sam had at dealing with all of this stuff, but it didn't work and now we're back at square one… that doesn't make it your fault."

"If Bobby gets it, why did he leave?"

"Because, Bobby just couldn't stand to watch it," Jim explained gently. "He's gruff and moody like your Dad, but he's a softy on the inside, especially where you boys are concerned."

"I just wish I could figure out…" Dean trailed off when he saw Sam standing in the doorway quietly. "Hey, Sammy, you okay?"

Sam seemed to hesitate slightly, but then he set his jaw firmly and took a deep breath.

"I thought I should tell you I've made a decision," Sam announced, his voice calm and even. Or was it mechanical, Dean thought. "I'm leaving the hunt… for good this time."

"What?" Dean gasped, turning in his seat to look at his brother closer. "Sam, you don't have to do that…"

"It's okay," Sam assured him, his voice was sad now and his eyes mirrored his tone. "I know you're trying to help, Dean, but I heard you just now. I know I'm in the way, I'm a liability. You just bring me along to do research that you're perfectly capable of doing yourself, and… I don't know, company on the road maybe."

"I never said that," Dean interrupted him. "I never said you were a liability!"

"You said I wasn't ready… you said even if I had been, the mystic still would have taken me… you said that I was pouting like I'd lost my puppy!" Sam reminded Dean, growing angry. "You made it clear what you think, and I wish I could say I didn't agree with you… but I do. You're right! I am a liability! I am in the way! The only thing I'm good at is getting in trouble and getting everyone I love hurt! I'm not going to fight with you just so I can make the fight easier for the other side to win!" Sam vented. He took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. "I've made my decision. I'm leaving first thing in the morning."

"No!" Dean yelled, his voice insistent and demanding. Sam seemed startled. "Sam, you're not a liability! Not even close! You're the strongest person I know, and of all the hunters – of all the PEOPLE I know – I would much rather have you fighting next to me than any of them. And, to be honest, it's always been that way. Even when… even when Dad was alive, I still always wanted you there."

Sam shook his head.

"You don't have to say any of this, Dean," Sam interrupted him. "Believe me, I get it… I wouldn't mind a ride to the bus station in the morning, but if you don't want to take me then I'll walk or hitch or something."

"Sam…"

"It' s okay!" Sam insisted. "I don't want to talk about this anymore… I'm done, there's nothing else to say."

Sam left.

"You can't be done!" Dean called after him. "Sam! Sammy!"

Dean moved to go after him, but Jim caught his arm in time to stop him.

"Dean, wait," Jim soothed him. "He needs time…"

"Time? He's leaving in the morning! How much time can I give him?"

"All the time he needs… he'll come around, but this is all very fresh and right now he fells…"

BANG!

The shot, and Dean knew instantly that it was a shot, was slightly muffled but still distinctive. His first instinct was to run to Sam's room, but Dean knew immediately that it hadn't come from that direction. Sam was safe for now, but that sound had definitely been nearby.

Something that had been tugging at the far reaches of Dean's mind finally registered with him, and suddenly he knew what was wrong… or at least who was in trouble.

"Bobby's truck was still outside," Dean told Jim as they both exchanged alarmed glances. They grabbed their weapons from nearby and hurried to the front of the house, looking through the windows. There were five bikers standing out there, their bikes parked nearby and their weapons all trained on the unconscious form of Bobby Singer. "Damn…"

"What now?" Jim asked, his tone showing his concern.

"We go out there," Dean announced. "All we have is the direct approach. You go out the back way, and I'll go out the front. See if you can take at least one or two of them by surprise."

"What about Sam?"

"Leave him," Dean decided, straightening and turning the safety off his gun. "He doesn't need to be in this if we can help it. He's been through enough."

Dean headed to the front door while Jim hurried out the back. He was on the porch in seconds, training his gun on the man that he figured had to be the new leader of the pack since he was out in front had seemed to possess the evil grin the man before him had worn. That and the fresh tattoo on his forearm suggested he'd been newly nominated.

"You know, that's a friend of mine you got there," Dean announced, trying to stall them for as long as he could. "If he dies, you're all gonna be in a world of hurt."

"You is out numbered, see?" the new leader pointed out, directing his gun around at his friends to illustrate his point. Dean's first thought was how much of an idiot this guy was, aiming a gun at a friends like it was a damned pen! He could take out his own army and save Dean he bullets.

"Yeah, well I've taken on more numbers than that before," Dean told him, confidence seeping into his voice the way it usually did when he was fighting against the odds. "And they were some real class, not just leather clad dickheads like you!"

"You can't talk to us like that!" the leader snapped. "We's got yer friend and we ain't afraid to kill 'im!"

"Yeah, well dickheads aren't afraid of much," Dean agreed, stepping closer to the pack. "Why don't you boys just pack everything up and go home… let your mommy's tuck you into bed and kiss you good night, and then I wont have to kill you like your boss."

"I'm the boss now, see?" the leader yelled, his voice getting an awkward pitch in it as he grew hysterical at the suggestion he was less than he previous leader. "See? See!"

"I see your pretty little tattoo, dumbass, I'm just not impressed by it."

"You should be!"

"Why?"

"Well…" the leader hesitated and grew frustrated again, but before he could stomp his feet and scream – which Dean didn't think was beyond the realm of possibility – something caught his attention. Dean glanced quickly in the same direction and saw two men dragging another unconscious body along the ground between them. They dumped Jim beside Bobby and grinned at the man in charge.

"What, you want a Scooby Treat?" Dean teased, as much condescension in his voice as he could muster. "Dude, come on, seriously! Picking on a preacher? That's a low blow! And weak! The dude hasn't held a gun in decades!"

Dean knew that wasn't true, but there were benefits to the collar Jim wore, and he wondered if one of them might help his own case. Unfortunately, with his only other ally inside, injured and withdrawn, not to mention unaware of what was going on, Dean knew he was in serious trouble.

He should have told Sam what was going on.

"So, what do you guys want then?" Dean asked. "You cant be here just to show off your new tatt."

"You'se pissed us off, and yer boy got away right when we was 'aving fun with him! We just came fer what's ours, is all!"

"What's yours?" Dean asked. "Oh, you mean that piece of pretty costume jewellery with the dead guy attached to it? Yeah, we burned it… and the dead guy. They're all gone, so you're just going to have to go out there and be bad all by yourselves."

The leader, with his hastily etched tattoo, was seething when he raised his gun and aimed it at Dean…

…and Dean was finally out of taunts, as well as options.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Sam stood in the doorway of the lounge room, out of sight of the window, and listened to his brother cracking wise with the bikers. He knew from what Dean was saying that Jim and Bobby were captives and unconscious, and that Dean was fast running out of options. He must be, otherwise there would be fighting already.

Jim, as far as Sam could gather, had gone around the back. Sam guessed that the guys that had gotten the jump on him were the only ones back there, so he back tracked his way through the kitchen and out the back door. He carried with him two handguns and plenty of extra bullets. He had heard the shot and hurried to Jim's bedroom where he knew the pastor kept spare weapons just in case.

Now, fully armed and ready, Sam snuck around the back of the house and reached the corner where he could see everything clearly without being spotted himself, He got down onto his stomach, ignoring the pain surging through him at various places from different injuries, and focussed instead on the people standing in front of Dean.

There were two guns trained on Sam's brother, and two on Bobby and Jim, so Sam knew what he had to do first. Take out the ones that were threats to Dean, so that he could leave Dean free to react to the rest.

Sam raised himself on one knee and aimed his gun at the man nearest Dean. He knew he would have to take the shots in quick succession, but his hands were shaking and he was growing increasingly nervous. He didn't have the best track record lately, and he knew that if he wasn't quick enough and sure enough with his aim, he could get them all killed.

Taking a deep breath, Sam squeezed the trigger and immediately took aim again, squeezing the trigger again. And again. And again. Four men were wincing in pain seconds after each pop had left his gun, and before Sam could register had happened, he was headed straight for two guys who were standing nearest him.

They looked surprised when they saw him coming toward them, and yet they jumped into action quickly. In spite of his injuries, Sam felt his body react the way he hoped it would, dodging their attacks quickly and countering with real strength and power.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled. "Heads up!"

Sam turned quickly when his brother called and saw a man trying to sneak up on him. He immediately threw a perfectly executed elbow strike at his throat that put him out of action for the duration of the fight. Turning back around to the man he had left barely on his feet, Sam finished him off with a final punch that knocked him flat on his back.

One more opponent and he would free and clear. Dean was dealing with the numbskull with the tattoo, but Sam wanted a piece of him too. He wasn't the bastard who had tortured him, but he wore the same tattoo on his arm so Sam figured he'd do as a decent substitute.

He wasn't fussy.

Before Sam could turn to find the third person he had been fighting, he felt something strike him from behind and fell awkwardly to his knees. He felt something pressing against his neck and he was immediately reminded of the scrummage that had started everything outside the bar. This time, however, the guy didn't have as good a hold over Sam, and he wasn't planning on giving him a chance to get one.

He reached behind him and grabbed the man's arms, bending forward at the waist and rolling his hip backward. He flipped the heavy-set biker over his shoulder and was satisfied with the loud thud he made when he hit the ground.

When Sam was sure that he wasn't getting up, he turned his attention toward his brother and headed toward him to see if he could help. He saw that Dean had a hold over tattoo man, and Sam was a little disappointed because he knew that by the time he reached his brother, Dean would have taken him down too. Then again, Sam thought, that's what his brother did best, and given the circumstances Sam figured he would have a few issues to work out himself.

There was one thing that Sam could help him with, though. There was movement in the shadows and Sam saw that it was a hidden enemy with a shovel raised and ready to swing at Dean's head.

"DEAN!" Sam yelled, pulling his gun.

Dean turned. He saw the man and ducked. The shovel connected with the head of Dean's original opponent, and at the same instant Sam squeezed the trigger on his gun and caught the man in the shoulder. He hit the ground with a scream and a howl of pain.

Dean was sprawled on the ground, his legs having slipped out from under him when he had ducked. He had a look of pure relief on his face when he saw Sam, and he waited as Sam made his way to him.

"Nice shot, Sammy," Dean grinned, reaching up and letting Sam help him to his feet. "Are you okay?"

Sam nodded, though he was acutely aware of blood trickly down his back and chest.

The boys immediately turned their attention to Jim and Bobby, who weren't looking quite as comfortable as Sam and Dean.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

An hour later, Jim had spoken with the police and they had taken the nine men into custody and assured Jim that he shouldn't be needed in the process to send the men to prison for a very long time. There would be enough evidence of their activities, they said, at the bar and the cellar… and the lead detective had said he found evidence of three other cases similar – though not as viscous – as Sam's, and he would have enough without having to involve them.

Jim thanked the detective and went inside where the others were waiting.

Dean was checking over Sam's injuries once again, repairing torn stitches and adding a couple of new ones to wounds that had opened further again. Jim checked the work quickly without Dean being aware of it, but he didn't see any problems and decided to check Sam's hand instead.

From what Dean had told him quickly before the cops had arrived, Sam had fought a fierce fight, and against three different men who had been involved in Sam's abduction and some of the abuse he had suffered. Sam had identified them, he hadn't recognised them, but they had figured they had been somehow involved or they wouldn't have been there.

Somehow, Sam had managed to get through the fight with only irritating the burn a little, so Jim quickly redressed the wound and then turned his attention to Bobby.

Bobby was pressing a tissue to his head.

"You okay?" Jim asked him. Bobby nodded and pulled the tissue away. It was free flowing, as head wounds often were, but Jim was certain it wouldn't need any stitches. He pressed a clean tissue with antiseptic on it to the wound and held it tight to stop the bleeding. "You boys okay?"

Sam and Dean both nodded but remained silent.

"You did good, both of you," Jim added.

"Not me," Dean disagreed. "Sam did most of it…"

"Yeah?" Jim asked, though he already knew the answer. "Thanks Sam, you saved our lives."

Bobby looked up sheepishly.

"Yeah, definitely," he admitted. "I went out to my truck and bang, nothing but stars… thanks, both of you… I was wrong, obviously. Sam, you're stronger than I realised, and I'm ashamed to say that I underestimated you."

Sam nodded, pressing his lips together.

"Everyone done?" Dean asked, trying to pull the attention away from his little brother as Sam began shifting uncomfortably. "What did the cops say?"

"They shouldn't need us, they've got enough with the evidence at the bar and stuff," Jim explained, sounding more relieved than he had realised he felt. He was so tired, the passed few days had been an absolutely nightmare and he knew none of hem had gotten much sleep. "We got lucky with this one. It got really messy."

"You got a contact in the police department?" Sam asked, pulling his shirt back on when Dean was finished with him.

"Yeah, I do," Jim answered. "He's one of my parishioners actually. Luckily, I didn't have to pull too many strings for this one. I think everyone should get some rest – and don't even think of getting up early tomorrow morning."

"Sounds good to me," Sam agreed, yawning. "G'night everyone."

Once Sam was gone, Dean turned to the others and sighed. Jim saw more than mere exhaustion in his eyes. He was surprised he had enough energy to stand after everything he'd been through. Sam had been through the ringer, and when Sam suffered, so did Dean. Dean hadn't slept, he had barely eaten, and now he was showing signs of as much exhaustion as Sam was.

"Do you think it was enough?" Dean asked. "I mean, do you think Sam'll still quit the hunt?"

Jim and Bobby exchanged glances, but no one had an answer for him. Dean took himself off to bed, opting for the chair beside Sam's bedside instead of his own bed, without an answer. Jim felt bad for him, but the only person who could make Dean feel any better was probably already asleep.

**SUPERNATURAL**

**A/N – So, there's only one more chapter after this and we're all done… feels a little sad, really, since I've had so much fun writing it! But then again, I miss Little Sammy too!**

**Reviews welcome, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!**


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, I know… the boys, the car, the whole thing is Kripke's. But I have the dvds and I reserve the right to play with my boys like puppets and put them through all sorts of dilemma's that make me feel better about the fact that I have nothing to do with the show itself! I like to call myself the PUPPETMASTER! Mwahahahahaha! Point? Not mine. Sad.

Special note to: SAIRAH. Thanks for reading Inner Musings, I really appreciate it! It really made me smile when I realised you read the story because you saw I'd written it, thanks heaps!!! I'm glad you liked it!

**Chapter Ten**

Dean sat awake in the seat by Sam's bed, watching to his brother sleeping. Sam's breathing was even and calm, and Dean hoped it would last the rest of the night. A night of peaceful sleep was exactly what Sam needed to recover some of his lost strength – not that he looked very lost when he was taking out those bikers, Dean thought. He looked just as strong as ever, and Dean had to admit – if only to himself – that he wasn't sure he could have fought quite as well with the injuries Sam had. Dean had seen some of the damage Sam suffered after the fight, torn skin, ripped stitches, he must have been in some pretty serious pain and yet, somehow, he found the strength to keep fighting anyway.

He had to admire his little brother for that. He wondered if Sam realised how much Dean actually admired him. Sam was so smart, and he just seemed to thrive on learning. It didn't matter what he was learning, as long as there was research, work and thought to it. And the harder he had to work for that knowledge the better he felt about it.

Dean would never understand that, but he still admired it.

Shifting in his seat, however, his thoughts shifted over to the little revelation Sam had dropped in their laps even earlier in the night. He was leaving the hunt. He thought Dean had no faith in him, that he didn't think he was up to the hunt. It didn't help that Sam had overheard the conversation with Jim that Dean had had. Sam took it out of context, but that wouldn't matter to him. Sam already doubted himself, his abilities, and Dean wasn't sure that there was anything he could say would make that any better.

How do you find faith in yourself once it's gone? How could anything ever make that okay again?

Dean felt himself growing angry as he thought of the bastard who had done this to his little brother. What he had done to take away that natural confidence Sam had always had. He was sometimes shy, a little quiet, and yet he had this air of confidence about him that made people stand up and take notice – even if Sam didn't realise that. Dean hadn't seen that confidence in Sam since he'd pulled him out of the cellar, and while that seemed perfectly normal after what he had been through, Dean didn't have like that it seemed to be taking hold of his little brother. He wanted to see Sam pull himself through this, he wanted him to be able to look himself in the mirror again, and not just see this scarred person looking back but see the awesome hunter he was.

The scars would heal, Dean thought. He remembered walking into this very room last night as Sam was getting dressed for the hunt. Even though Dean had seen Sam's injuries several times before, his heart stopped for a minute at the sight of them. Sam… damaged, broken, hurt… Dean would never get used to seeing that.

But to leave the hunt? Dean hadn't seen that coming. He wondered if saving Jim and Bobby's lives last night would do anything to change Sam's mind. He had, after all, taken out most of the bikers single handedly, surely that would make him realise he wasn't helpless! But Sam was a thinker, he was sensitive, and if he couldn't get passed the thought that he was going to get Dean killed or that he was a liability to Dean – or if he was convinced that that's what Dean thought of him – there'd be no stopping him from getting on that bus in the morning.

The thought of Sam leaving brought a lump to Dean's throat. He couldn't stand the thought of not seeing Sam again, of losing the one person he had always been able to rely on, to trust. No matter what else was going on in their lives, Sam was always Sam and he had always been there for him. As much as Dean liked to think of himself as the protector, he knew that Sam saved his life in a hundred different ways every single day. But last night, when Dean had told Sam he needed him, Sam had just looked back at him with disbelief in his eyes. There was something else shadowed in his eyes too, that Dean hadn't been able to identify but now the realisation struck him and it made him sick.

Hate. He had seen real hate in Sam's eyes. Not hate directed at Dean, it was worse than that. It was an inner hate that was finally showing through. Sam had hated himself in that moment, and that certainly wasn't helping him regain his confidence. Sam thought so little of himself that he actually hated himself – how the hell was Dean supposed to fix that? Or any of this, he wondered, rubbing his temple to ward off the headache that was trying to settle in on him while he watched Sam.

He knew that he couldn't let Sam get on that bus in the morning, he had to figure out a way to stop him… but he had no idea how to do it. He had no idea how to convince Sam that he was needed, that he was not just important to the hunt but he was important to Dean. Sam had no idea how much better he made things, and Dean wasn't sure he could put it into words!

He had a horrible feeling that it was going to take one hell of a chick flick moment to convince Sam to stay!

Dean turned the last two years over in his head, remembering what things had been like since he had dragged Sam back into the hunt and what things had been like before that. He had been hunting on his own for the most part, he didn't really hunt with his father that often back then. Sometimes, when a hunt needed more man power, they would team up, but generally speaking he was on his own. Again. He had always felt kind of alone, except when Sam was there. Especially when it was just the two of them.

When Dean had realised that John was missing, though, he knew he had to do something. He had told Sam he didn't want to do it alone, but the truth was he really couldn't. He could hunt on his own, sure, but he could be alone. He didn't want to be. He hated the thought of being on his own, he wanted his family together. He needed them more than they needed him, he was sure of that, but it didn't matter. Sam had joined Dean the Woman in White hunt, and it had been the best hunt Dean had ever been on. Just him and his little brother, hitting the road with Metallica blasting in the Impala, teasing each other the way they always had. They were on a different level this time, they were both adults, hunters, fighters… the banter flowed between them easily, they picked up where they left off but there was another element to the bond they had that Dean had never been able to put his finger on. He didn't think of it often, he didn't pretend to be that deep, but he was always aware of it.

After Dean had pulled Sam from the fire that had killed Jessica, though, he wasn't exactly his normal self. He was angry, depressed, grieving – which was to be expected. But somehow, even when he was calling out her name during the night, Sam still managed to make Dean feel better.

He couldn't let that go!

But what the hell am I supposed to do about it, Dean thought,

If Dean couldn't stop his little brother from getting on that bus in the morning… he shook his head angrily, annoyed with himself for not knowing how to fix things.

"Damn," he muttered, his voice so long he could barely hear it himself. "I'm completely useless!"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Sam awoke several hours ago, images floating before his eyes that made him jump awake but they weren't a full on nightmare. They were just flashes of different things he had seen in the cellar, of memories of what he had been through, of what had been done to him. But he didn't want to remember anymore, and he had managed to pull himself out of the dreamland before it had taken hold over him.

He heard a noise nearby and turned to see Dean asleep in the chair by his bed again. He felt better seeing him there. He didn't feel like it made him pathetic to be relieved to see Dean sitting there, he was more relieved to see that Dean was okay after seeing a gun trained on him earlier in the evening.

Sam wondered what it would be like to get up in the morning and not see Dean polishing a weapon or chewing on a piece of bacon – or passed out asleep on the bed across from Sam's, which was most often where Dean was when Sam woke up. He knew he was going to have to find out what life without his brother was like before he got them both killed, but he wasn't looking forward to it. He just knew that he couldn't hunt anymore, too much had happened and he just couldn't handle that life now. Every time he closed his eyes he saw The Boar, or relived the beatings he had suffered. He was remembering things that had happened in that cellar that he hadn't been aware of!

One of these days, Sam knew, Dean really was going to get killed saving his life, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to live with that. He wondered if he could talk Bobby into joining Dean on the hunt, but wasn't sure that was fair. Bobby had a house, a home, and he'd done most of his hunting and travelling years ago. He didn't hunt full time anymore – unless he had to. He had don't his part, and Sam didn't want to drag him into that world again when it was his responsibility. It wasn't Bobby's job to keep Dean safe, that was what Sam was supposed to do…

…but how could Sam stick around when he spent more time putting Dean in danger instead of watching his back? He was going to get him killed, and Sam couldn't face that! He couldn't stand the thought of losing his brother, and he was certain Dean was more likely to get hurt or killed if Sam was there. He sure wasn't helping him!

Dean shifted in his seat and Sam watched him for a moment before rolling onto his back again. He stared at the ceiling, remembering Dean's reaction when Sam had told him that he was going to leave the hunt. His face had had so many things written across it, Sam wasn't sure he could identify them all. Dean had even gone a little pale! Sam hadn't been expecting that reaction, especially after everything that had happened. Dean should have been relieved to see Sam go, not… scared? Worried?

Dean had told him he needed him, but Sam couldn't believe that. Dean wanted him around, sure. He had never made a secret of the fact that he wanted Sam on the hunt but Sam had always suspected it was because Dean was trying to get back what they had lost when Sam had gone to college. Dean had basically admitted that to him when Meg had kidnapped their father, telling Sam that he didn't want him to walk away the minute the fight was over. Dean wanted him to stick around, but Sam knew now that it wasn't because he was saving any lives…

…Dean didn't need him to hunt, he just needed him. Or Dean thought he did, anyway. Sam knew different, he knew that Dean would be better off without him.

His mind raced forward to seeing those guns trained on Dean and he shivered. If he had hesitated for even a second longer than he had, Dean might have been shot. The thought of Dean dying brought an ache in Sam's chest and he pulled himself to sit up against the pillows, trying to relieve the anxiety he was feeling. He remembered how he had felt when he thought Dean had died. The room he was in had seemed even darker than it was, and the darkness seemed to reach out to him and mock him cruelly. Sam had been so relieved when he'd seen Dean alive and well – and beating the crap out of The Boar in the corner, that had definitely been a memory worth holding onto.

But that didn't change the fact that Dean had been hurt. He had been hit with a taser – again – and shot in the shoulder. Sam wasn't sure if Dean realised Sam knew that, but he had recognised the signs in Dean even though Dean had tried to hide it. He had better movement in that shoulder than he probably should have, but he had still been favouring it a little. Sam had heard the gunshot and put the two things together… he remembered hearing the gunshot and tears spilling down his cheeks as he had screamed for his brother. Six years old, trapped in a sack and being driven away on a motorbike, the only thing he had heard after the gunshot was a grunt of pain from Dean.

Sam rubbed his eyes, trying to get his thoughts away from thoughts of Dean getting hurt and killed. He couldn't stand thinking about it anymore, and he felt tears slipping down his cheeks again. He didn't want to leave, he wanted to stay with his brother and hunt the way they had for so long… he wanted to ride shotgun, listening to classic rock and enjoying the easy banter they had always shared…

…but he couldn't stay.

Sam forced his eyes shut and tried to sleep through the tears that still insisted on flowing freely down his cheeks. He didn't bother to brush them away, instead he just waited for the nightmares to begin and hoped none of them involved anyone shooting Dean.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Dean awoke the next morning earlier than he had expected to. His eyes shot open and saw the empty bed before him. He wondered if Sam had taken off without saying good bye, without letting him drive him to the bus station, and his heart was immediately in his throat. Sam wasn't well enough to walk all that way! He was still hurt, still stiff and sore, he needed more time! Dean needed more time! Sam couldn't be gone, not just like that! He wouldn't just sneak off on his own without a word!

He wouldn't!

Had something happened? Was Sam missing? Had he slipped out of bed to get something and gotten hurt? Dean was on his feet in an instant and was about to race out of the room when he heard voices in the kitchen. Dean couldn't tell who they were, they were speaking too quietly, but he hoped – hell, he prayed! – that one of them would be Sam.

He ran the length of the hall way and tripped over himself into the kitchen, barely managing to stay on his feet. Sam was sitting at the table, freshly showered and dressed, munching on a piece of toast. Dean blinked, trying to take in the image that seemed to be perfectly normal for most families, and yet the images flashing through his own mind in those few seconds when he didn't know where Sam was had seemed more likely since they were Winchester's.

Trouble did have a habit of finding them, after all.

"You're okay," Dean stated dumbly, relief hiding behind a flash of anger. "I thought you had left or something."

"Left?" Sam asked, blinking in confusion. "I couldn't leave, I can't get to the bus unless you drive me."

"Maybe I just shouldn't drive you then," Dean snapped under his breath as he stalked to the fridge and pulled the door open.

"Huh?"

"Nothing," Dean snapped again, louder this time. Jim was madly trying to catch Dean's attention, warning him against upsetting Sam, but he ignored the warning. After all, Sam wanted to be treated normally right? Well, this is how Dean would normally react to the thought of Sam leaving, bailing on the hunt, running off when Dean needed him. "I said I shouldn't drive you to the bus then!"

"But…" Sam was even more confused. "But… then I'd have to walk…"

"Then walk if you want to get out of here that badly!" Dean slammed the fridge shut again and walked out of the kitchen.

Two seconds later, the front door slammed behind him.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Sam turned hurt eyes towards Jim and tried to steady his voice before he spoke. When he opened his mouth, he still wasn't sure he was going to be able to get the words out without a tremor or two, but if he waited any longer that would be impossible.

"What just happened?" Sam asked, sounding younger than the six year old he had been so recently.

"Ohh, Sam," Jim sighed, dropping into the seat across from Sam. "Don't you get it? Dean doesn't want you to go."

"But he's better off without me here," Sam reminded the pastor as if it was the most commonly known thing in the world and everyone should be able to see it. "I'm going to get him killed one day."

Jim laughed lightly.

"You know, he was saying pretty much the same thing not too long ago," Jim announced. "He was so angry with himself when you nearly drowned… do you remember falling in the lake?"

Sam shook his head.

"I just remember waking up and seeing Dean looking at me," Sam answered.

"Well, we nearly lost you… I think that was the scariest moment of your brother's life… I've never seen him like that before, not ever," Jim continued. "But now, you're leaving and that probably scares him just as much – maybe even more. He doesn't want you to leave, Sam. He needs you, and not just because you're a hunter, but because you're his brother."

"I'm not much of a hunter," Sam disagreed, looking down at his unfinished toast. "Especially not anymore."

"No?" Jim asked, not surprised by the statement Sam was making and yet surprised that anyone could think that of a Winchester, especially Sam Winchester who had been fighting his whole life… he hadn't always fought demons, sometimes he was just fighting for the right to live a normal life and Jim thought that was just as noble. "You could have fooled me last night! Who took down that biker gang when no one else could? Dean couldn't move, he had too many guns trained on him! One itchy trigger finger and he would have been shot! And I was knocked out… Bobby! Well, Bobby never even made it to the truck! But then you come out and did what the rest of us couldn't do… and you saved all our lives in the process… how can you not think you're a hunter? And a damn good one, for that matter!"

Sam hesitated, thinking over what Jim had said a moment before speaking again.

"Can a pastor say 'damn'?" he asked.

Jim chuckled.

"This one can," he decided firmly.

Sam sighed.

"I'd better go pack," he announced, getting to his feet. "It looks like I'm going to have a bit of a hike ahead of me…"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

An hour later, Dean had snuck in the back way and grabbed his duffel bag from the bedroom and had shoved them into the trunk of the Impala. He was sitting on the porch when Sam came out with his bag tossed over his good shoulder. Jim and a barely awake Bobby followed him out of the house to say good bye.

Dean said nothing.

"Are you sure you don't want a lift?" Bobby asked, obviously not for the first time.

"You have a concussion, Bobby," Sam reminded him. "You shouldn't be driving anywhere for a few days. Don't worry, I'll be fine."

Dean sighed. He listened patiently as Sam said his good byes to the others and then made his way gingerly to the bottom of the porch steps. Dean could see the hint of pain etched into Sam's features, but he seemed to be trying hard to hide it so Dean didn't say anything.

"You're off then," Dean stated, not looking at his brother. He kept his eyes trained on the ground instead and he saw Sam shift his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. "Good luck…"

"Dean…" Sam began. Dean looked up at him, knowing the look on his face would be one of anger, but wishing he could change that. If Sam really felt like he needed to leave, then Dean needed to let him. He had always tried to do whatever Sam needed him to do after all, no matter how hard it was for him.

When Sam realised that Dean wasn't going to say anything, he sighed and walked away. The hurt look in his eyes hadn't gone without notice by Dean, and he mentally kicked himself. Why couldn't he just say it? Why couldn't he just tell Sam the truth! Sam would stay then, he was almost certain of it…

…but the words wouldn't come.

Dean got to his feet and stretched his back. Sam hadn't gotten far, and he was walking with a slight limp. He was probably trying no to pull the stitches in his back and stomach as he moved… what a low blow, Dean thought.

"Hey, Bitch!" Dean called out. Sam turned around, shifting the weight of the bag he carried carefully as he waited to hear what Dean had to say. Dean took a deep breath and tried to sound more cheerful than he really felt. "You want a lift?"

Sam smiled.

"Sure… Jerk…"

Dean turned to Jim and Bobby.

"I'm gonna hit the road after I drop Sammy off," Dean told them as Sam headed for the Impala. "Thanks for everything… this is one hunt I… well, thanks."

"No problem," Jim assured him.

"Sure," Bobby agreed. "And next time I see you, you guys can fill me in on the bits I missed… coz… well, things are a little hazy."

Dean chuckled.

"Jim, maybe he should get checked out by a doctor," he suggested.

"Don't worry, he's going today," Jim assured him. Bobby was looking confused and frustrated, but a smile broke out on his face and he nodded.

"See you boys later!" he grinned.

Dean shook his head and walked to the car. The next ten minutes was going to be painful, he knew, as he drove Sam to the bus station. He had to tell Sam the truth, and it had to be soon or he'd never get another chance… but he just wasn't very good at these kinds of conversations, he wasn't sure it would make any difference in the end.

Ten minutes later, after complete silence had given Dean a headache, he parked the car at the bus station. The bus that would take Sam to wherever he was planning on going was already waiting for him and Dean felt an immediate flare of anger directed at it. He didn't want to let Sam out of the car. He wished he had one of those child locks so he could make Sam stay, but he knew that wasn't what he needed to do.

What he needed to do was so much harder.

"Sam," Dean began as Sam made a move toward the door. "I'm not very good at this stuff sometimes, you know… normally when we talk, you start it and I just get to listen and then I get frustrated enough to say something that eventually shuts you up… but this time…"

"Dean," Sam tried to interrupt him, but Dean shook his head and glanced back at the bus. Sam would be getting on that bus any minute now, Dean thought. Unless he could get the words out to say what he needed to say.

"Sam, just shut up, okay? Don't make this harder," Dean pleaded with him. He turned in his seat and faced Sam, remembering the last time he had done this was when he had asked Sam told tell him why he thought Bloody Mary would go after him, and his blood ran cold at the memory of Sam announcing that there had been more to Jessica's death than Sam had told him at the time. He felt that same sense of dread now when he thought of Sam leaving.

"Dean, I have to go, I still have to buy my ticket," Sam reminded him.

"Yeah, well if you miss it you'll just have to take the next one," Dean snapped, growing frustrated. He wasn't annoyed at Sam, he was getting angry at himself. This shouldn't be so hard! "Look, I don't want you to go, okay? I want you to stay here."

"Dean…"

"I know what you're going to say, but you're wrong," Dean told him simply. "You're a bigger idiot than you think you are if you think that I'm better off if you left… and you're an even bigger idiot again if you think I'm going to let you get on that bus without trying to stop you!"

Sam looked out the window and Dean kicked himself. He was saying this all wrong, and he wished he could rewind it all and start again. Why couldn't this just be a practice run?

"Look, I'm not saying this right…" Dean sighed, softening his tone. "What I'm trying to say is that I need you… I need you because you keep me alive, you keep me safe. I'll be the first to admit it, I take more risks when you're not here, and I'm a better hunter when you are here."

"Dean, I'm…"

"You are a damn good hunter, Sam, whether you want to believe it or not. You're not a liability, you're not in the way, and you're sure as hell not going to get me killed! I'm sick of hearing you put yourself down all the time, you're better than that. You shouldn't doubt yourself, and I sure as hell don't doubt you. I don't think any less of you after what you've been through, none of us do! Hell, I admire you're strength just to get through it alive!" Dean told him, talking faster as he continued. He felt like he had to rush through it while the words were spilling out. "You did what you had to do. You lived, you fought back when you could, you even tried to get away! And then, when we found you, we weren't bringing you home to bury you because you survived… you have no idea what that means, Sammy. What that meant to me! You have no idea what I was going through while you were gone… I was going out of my mind! And when I walking into that room and saw you lying there, I thought you were dead, but even if you weren't, I was pissed as hell at what they'd done to you! What I couldn't protect you from!"

Sam took a shaky breath, but he didn't say anything.

"And then after all that, you saved our lives," Dean kept going. "I don't even know what to say, Sam… you're my little brother and I'm supposed to look out for you, but…"

Sam looked at him.

"But what?" he asked.

"But you end up looking out for me even more," Dean finished. "Just by being there you've saved my life and I don't just mean the hunt. I hunted before because it was all I knew, all I had ever known. But when you came back, I hunted because I wanted to. When Dad died, I was so scared about what might happen to you I… I wanted to quit hunting, and you kept me in it. You pulled me though and reminded me how good it feels to save lives… and you saved my life back then because I would have gotten myself killed so many time if it weren't for you."

Sam held Dean's gaze for a moment, but still didn't say anything.

Dean sighed.

"So, go if you really need to go," Dean told him. "But don't go because you think I've lost faith in you because that's never going to happen…"

Sam climbed out of the car and headed toward the ticket office. Dean watched him as he bought a ticket, keeping his eyes on him right up until he disappeared behind the bus. Tears filled his eyes and Dean hit the steering wheel angrily. He had been sure Sam would have stayed if only Dean could tell him what he really thought, how he really felt. He had finally gotten the words out, but somehow Dean had failed. He had said the wrong things, he was sure of it. Or maybe Sam just didn't believe him. Maybe he still thought Dean was just trying to make him feel better.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Sam walked across the road toward the ticket office. He still wasn't sure where he was going to go, but he figured he should aim for California. At least he'd been there before and had some sort of idea what was there. He was going to be started out all over again, but that didn't mean everything had to be completely new.

The thought of going back to school had occurred to him, but he'd immediately decided against it. He couldn't do that, not now. Things were different. Too many things had changed, too many things had happened. He didn't want to go back there…

He stood in front of the ticket office, hearing the lady asking him again where he wanted to go. He told her California and handed her the money. When he had the ticket in his hand, he headed straight for the bus. He walked as quickly as he could, averting his eyes from the Impala. He didn't want to look over there again, he knew that if he caught sight of his brother again he'd lose his nerve and wouldn't get on the bus.

It had taken all his strength just to get out of the car after Dean had finished talking, but he knew it was the right thing for him to do. He had to leave, he had to get on this bus and go somewhere far away where he couldn't get Dean hurt. If Sam was going to get hurt in California, at least Dean wouldn't be there. It was the only way Sam could think of to help now, after… well, since he had lost his nerve. He was afraid, and he knew it. It wasn't the good type of fear that kept you alert during a hunt, it was the debilitating kind of fear that would get them both killed.

_"I need you…"_

Dean's voice echoed in Sam's head. He tried to push the thought aside as the bus driver opened the door for him, but couldn't get Dean's words out of his mind.

_"Don't go because you think I've lost faith in you because that's never going to happen…"_

Sam hesitated.

"Are you getting on, kid?" the driver asked. Sam looked at his ticket, one foot on the first step of the bus. "I gotta go if you ain't getting on."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Dean heard the bus start up and closed his eyes. He didn't want to see it leave, he didn't want to watch Sam drive away from him. He wasn't sure he could handle that…

Until…

There was a tap at the window and the passenger door opened. Sam stuck his head in the car. Dean glanced back at the bus as it rounded the corner and then turned to his little brother.

"Sam, what…"

"Hey," Sam greeted him, smiling more than Dean had seen in a while. The smile actually reached his eyes this time. "Can I get a ride?"

"Depends," Dean answered. "Where're you going?"

"Wherever there's an evil son of a bitch that needs killing," Sam told him, climbing into the car and pulling the door shut. "I can't let you have all the fun, can I?"

Dean started the engine, unable to keep the megawatt grin from spreading over his features.

"No," he agreed. "I guess not…"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Sam smiled when he saw the look on Dean's face. He was happy that Sam was staying, genuinely happy. There was no hiding that, no faking it. Dean was relieved… he had meant everything he had said to Sam, and Sam finally believed it…

He would just have to work out his issues the Winchester way…

…by killing as many evil things between here and wherever.

**SUPERNATURAL**

**A/N – Well, that wraps it up for you! Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the ride!**

Reviews are always welcome.


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